


My Hero Bares His Nerves

by vylentine



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:56:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 68,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21828571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vylentine/pseuds/vylentine
Summary: Five kids learn to grow up through the harships during their last year of high school.
Relationships: Ahnn Ra/Elise Soh, julian pae/jackson kim, lennon young/james choi





	1. Chapter 1

_LENNON_

The ballroom lights began to dim as Gary Waterford took the stage.  


Lennon Young sat in on the the tables in the front, bored and on the verge of a headache. Futilely, he hoped that a waiter, any one of the ones frantically running around, would suddenly rush to his side and stab one of those gold plated butter knives right through his throat. His misery would at least be put to rest by something as pretentious as the jackass spouting garbage on stage. It was the only meaningful way to go, really.  


To Lennon’s right, he noticed his brother, Miles, had been glaring at him for a while.

Glaring at Lennon for glaring at Gary Waterford.

“Sit up and quit lounging on your chair,” Miles hissed at him When their gazes met. “Act like you’re actually civilized,” he spat at him.  


Lennon flicked a piece of bread at him, which intensified Miles glare.

Here was the truth of the night: neither of them wanted to be there.

Surrounded by glaring spotlights, empty eyes, and heavy sets of lungs; powerful enough to carry out bouts of hollow laughter from the faces of Tinsley’s most politically aware.

This all wasn’t unusual. Lennon hated the familiarity, and still felt like an absolute stranger amongst so many people that new his name, but could never distinguish in a line up. Which ws fine with him because, he too, felt that all white people blended in after a certain amount of time.

He didn’t exactly have a choice in attending. He had been warned to be present, to be aware, and to be absorbed by the cogent ambiance. Ignoring his boredom while simultaneously being bored was slowly become a thrilling game of _‘why are you hitting yourself? why are you hitting yoursel? why are you hitting yourself?_  


“Will you cut that out? Quit acting like your five years old,” came another hiss from Miles. “People are watching.”  


Unsuccessfully, Miles had attempted to stomp on Lennon’s foot underneath the table. The revenge was in vain, which created this eery twist to his brother’s mouth as he laughed along to whatever joke Gary had suddenly delivered on stage.  


Miles Clairmont didn’t like to be challenged. All of his pride stemmed from his own presumptions; that he was always taller, always smarter, and always ready to fill the empty spaces with something meaningful. In turn, this cataloged him in what Lennon would call a raging, pompous ass.

Lennon flicked another piece of bread at him.

“It’s just an incredible honor to be surrounded by such a powerful community,” Gary Waterford spoke into the mic in his podium. “The event here tonight was made possible by the great efforts of The Living Truth Organization,” the crowd clapped loud and enthusiastically. “Thank you, thank you, my friends. The LTO is very fine organization that helps our youth shape their future into a future worth fighting for, where they lead and create a better tomorrow for all of us. For this incredible organization’s support in, not only this race, but my previous three: I am eternally grateful.”

“You could act like you’re happy to be here,” Miles reminded Lennon with a pointed tone. “It’s the least you can do for Mom.”

“That’s rich coming from someone who hardly even sees her,” Lennon challenged back.

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means. Don’t play dumb.”

A spotlight blinded the two brothers suddenly as a healthy round of clapping emerged all around them. Lennon groaned and attempted to make himself seem less present as Gary fucking Waterford referred them as family—No, he had said _companions_. The latter was worse, somehow, because it sounded more like they were stray animals he rescued right off the streets. Which, in retrospect and according to the most recent Gosspi Gazette publication, he kind of had.  


It had all begun two years ago.  


There had been short-lived laughs, decent conversations, and a promise that was bound to last. Lennon didn’t take to the promise then and still refuses to omit to the inclusion of that self-centered idiot in his everyday routine. Thing was, though, he wasn’t the one with the authority to make choices. Not even regarding his own life, which lately had been led by a team of public relations personnel that never truly had much regard for his privacy or boundaries in general.  


That’s why the engagement hadn’t come as a big surprise.

The surprise, turned out, was that Lennon had found out from a kid in class who was shoving pencils down his back and calling him a “pig’s shit.” By association. They always added ‘by association’ for some reason and that pissed off Lennon more than the actual insult.

Needless to say, Lennon had smashed that kid’s face into a wall.

(Again, public relations dragged his ass and he got the telling off of a lifetime)

“Things like these take root and sort themselves out, Lennon,” his mother had explained to him in lieu of the news. She had been off-handed in her verse; lazy and indifferent. Like she had rehearsed it and grown bored of it. “When things reach the surface during situations like the one we’re in with Gary, there’s no stopping it. The good thing is that you know, and that you’ll benefit greatly from it.”

_Things like these take root._

Then fucking uproot, Lennon thought bitterly. His mother ran a warm hand over his cheek and promised him good things were coming. Only good things.

On the other side of things, Gary was thriving off of polling in second place, closely behind first.

“I feel so much pride and gratitude in the outlook of this campaign. Nothing but good things,” Gary went on. He glanced at Elena Young, then at Lennon and Miles out in the crowd. Right on cue. Then, a smile. “I look forward to work with you all in the greater fight—the most important one—that will teach our children that the critical hour is always just one inch beneath our feet. And we must be prepared to teach our children what the best road in life is. Because…well, because there is nothing worse than holding that power in your bare hands and watching our children go astray.”

-

The air outside felt suffocating. Brutal and a sign that Lennon probably should have feigned an illness and stayed home. Throughout events like these, he was always under someone’s careful eye. Miles, his mother, the security guard, campaign manager—even his father, who really didn’t play a part in any of this.(—The great story of The Success of Andrew Young will come later.)

On nights like these, he was hardly ever outside, opting to remain behind closed doors where he was free to do as he pleased without being scrutinized. He had forgotten how it felt to feel this cold. Lennon took a breath.

His lungs filled some much of that heavy air, he felt like he about to burst at the seams.

He had secluded himself in the balcony that outlooked a dull garden with poorly kept roses and violets that surrounded a fountain of a cherub pissing out of his ass. His hand rested over the rusty railing as he looked down to the courtyard below, his fingers gripped the metal until his knuckles turned white and felt kind of hopeless.

Not in a way that tugged at his soul or whatever. He felt like a good damn animal in a cage and he hated to admit it even to himself. He hated the lights. His stupid suit, the tie tightly bound against his neck, and the glaringly obvious question mark plastered all over his entire life.  


How was he suppose to deal with this from now on?  


Miles was behind him in an instant.

“What are you doing here,” he demanded.

His voice broke the silence. Kind of startled Lennon.

“I’m standing outside. It’s literally the only thing I can do here,” Lennon replied bitterly.  


“People want to meet you, you know. And Mom is gonna start wondering where you are. Why aren’t you back there mingling with the guests like you should be?”

“Because I’m here, Miles. Obviously.”  


“Oh, cut the self-depriving, hormonal teenage bullshit.”

“I love how you just get me, you know?”

“Just stop with the bullshit, Lennon. You could offer so much to this experience and you’re wasting it away thinking you’re above any of this,” Miles pressed on. He was still standing behind Lennon, expecting Lennon to turn around and face him, no doubt. “Stop acting like such a snob around everyone. Everyone around here is kind and they want to support a very important cause. So, cut the whole ‘I don’t care, I’m my own person and money doesn’t change me’ spiel. No ones buying it.”

It sounded fitting, really. All of it. “You’re so good at this,” Lennon mocked him, shrugging. “Might need to pick up some tips from you in how I need to act from now on.”  


“Mom said you haven’t really spoken to her lately,” Miles said as he leaned over the railing next to Lennon. His next words seemed careful. “Are you doing…okay?”  


“Are you worried?”  


“Is this about New York?”

Lennon groaned at the brisk reminder. “Nope,” he answered tersely.

“It kind of feels like it is.”  


Lennon hummed. “It’s not. I’ve got bigger problems to think about.”

“Such as?” Miles pressed on. “You’ve got upcoming exams to take? Studying to do? _Or_,” his footsteps were getting close. One by one, taunting Lennon. “Are you just too busy wasting your senior year away snorting cocaine with those asinine friends of yours?”  


_This again_. It had been one sleazy newspaper article. Not even front page worthy. Just one grainy picture of him with his friends; frivolous and fleeting. All tucked away right in the middle of the Gossip Gazette. A whole three weeks ago.

No one had read it or paid much mind to Lennon Young, the son of the State Director of Education’s fiancee, who was caught walking out of a convenience shop with white dust over his nose. No one cared. God, what a week that had been. Lennon cringed at the thought of having to relive the torturous hours of media control from the Waterford’s snooty campaign manager and, worst of all, his mother’s threats to ship him in a small, tiny box straight into a rehabilitation center.  


“Don’t you have some ass to go kiss in there? I mean, you’re all over the moon with that jackass being tied to Mom for the rest of eternity now. Might as well squeeze it for all it’s worth like you love to do,” Lennon told him. He wanted to show his brother his words didn’t have an effect on him, but they did. As easy as that. “I’m sure picking on your younger brother has got to have gotten old by now and you need a new hobby.”

“Trust me, I don’t do it by choice.”

“Could fool me,” Lennon rolled his eyes.  


“Look,” Miles stepped back, and clasped his hands together. The sound echoed throughout the entire courtyard. “Mom has been alone for so long that this…no matter how weird the timing is…it’s good for her, man. She’s been alone for so long and I think it’s time that she finds her soulmate. You can’t expect her to go back to living in a grody studio busing tables for a fiver an hour. There’s only one way up from there and this is it.”

“Pretty sure there are other directions to go to aside from up.”

Miles sighed heavily. “You’re such an ass. Just give her a break. She loves Gary, so you should cut her some slack since, for the first time in your whole life, her attention isn’t solely focused on you.”  


With that, and yet another sigh of resignation Miles’ stepped led him back inside, where he truly belonged with the rest of the political leeches. Lennon didn’t even spare a glance back.  


Their relationship might’ve been a little estranged right then and there, but it was because in the end, even though they were family, they had truly lived different lives. They expected one another to accept consequential change and swallow their thoughts and opinions without question. And that was something Lennon was still working on.

Change.

-  


**A few moments after the suffocating air and “** _What are you doing here”, part 1:_

Lennon wanted to call it rare. Meeting James. But there was something familiar in the way the two of them seemed to be built at opposite ends of the spectrum. Happy and sad. Heavy and light. Exhilaration and discouragement. It felt like a breath of fresh air, breathing in and not suffocating for the first time, but thinking _okay, why am I feeling like this? Why and I the heaviness, the sadness, and discouragement?_

Was he really having that bad of a night?

“You don’t smoke do you?” was the first thing James said. His voice was rough and extremely low.  


Lennon felt on the verge of a trance. “I don’t,” he replied. He still couldn’t meet his eye. Couldn’t bring himself to do so.  


“You don’t smoke cigarettes?”  


“No.”  


“Weed?”

Lennon didn’t really know how to answer that. He kept quiet for a few seconds before, exhaling, “Yeah,” and then belatedly adding, “not cigarettes, though. That shit’s disgusting.”

“Me either,” James said sighing airily. “It’s just…It kind of feels like one of those nights, you know? Where you only ever meet anyone out here for a smoke break. I’m James by the way.”

Lennon looked up and notice James had moved in closer towards him. James was now at the half-way point to be considered company, standing freely next to him. That hadn’t been the first thing Lennon noticed about him, though.

First, it was the color blue. His hair. A tousled mess of blue waves.  


“Nice to meet you, I guess,” Lennon muttered, looking away when James attempted to meet his gaze.

“You guess?” James chuckled. There was a brief pause where they both stared at the sky, shimmering in a sea of city lights and muddy grey clouds.“I didn’t take you for someone who does weed. You’re kind of a clean looking kid. Really clean. Someone who doesn’t even go out to a concert because it’s too messy. Too dangerous or whatnot.”  


“‘M not a prude.”

“Prudes can be fun, though.”

Lennon watched him from the corner of his eye. “Still not a prude,” he conceded. But, really, that wasn’t been the worse thing he had been called.

“Do you mind if I smoke out here then?” James held a white, poorly constructed paper cylinder in between his fingers. “Was gonna do it, but then you came bursting through and kind of ruined the whole plan. You’re brother’s an ass, by the way.”

“Okay?” Lennon finally turned to him. James was closer now, it instantly fazed him. Seeing him this close. This stranger who had hair the color of the ocean and flecks of gold littered over his eyes lids. Lennon almost forgot how to speak.

“Okay?” James echoed him. He smiled, cheeks rising. “Were you going to say something else? Or is that you’re answer to my question?”

What was Lennon trying to say?

It had taken a flask of rum and half a joint for things to move along. The winter chill hadn’t lightened up, forcing Lennon’s body to shiver, but it was nice. A nice feeling next to James.

Within minutes they had become acquaintances. Well enough that Lennon learned James was part of the staff. His parents were caterers and they had been hired to serve tonight’s dinner, which, according to James, had delighted them beyonds words to land the gig. His father for the money, and his mother because she was apparently a massive fan of Gary Waterford, which in turn, she obviously detested James’ hair color and the very present fact that he wasn’t straight.

“She’s from Little Owlings, what can you do? The people there are as close minded as the people here in downtown are of anal,” James argued offhandedly. “There’s more pressing problems in life, that’s what she tells me. Works for me.“

“You’re gay,” Lennon repeated, which sounded foreign when he said it out loud. It’s not like it was so uncommon in uptown Tinsley. That was one of the first things he had realized when he moved here. Everyone with a thick bank account and any sense kept an eye on the gorgeous male socialites. It felt like a completely different world.

“Good observation,” James teased. They had moved a little more into the corner of the balcony, where they sat completely hidden from the dinner, where the music had turned into something a little more upbeat. The thump of a bass was echoing through Lennon’s chest.

Lennon laughed. Maybe a little too loud. “Shit. Sorry,” he mumbled, resting his head up against the wall and stretching his legs until they almost touched the balcony rail. “This is some good fucking weed.”  


That made James smile. He took a huff from his joint and passed it to Lennon. “Better be. I had to sell my left nut to afford this shit.”  


“You’ve got a dealer uptown?”  


James coughed gently as he exhaled the smoke. The winds swept it away within seconds. “Nah, she’s from downtown. Doesn’t take well to newbies, I think. That’s why she keeps charging me so much. You got a dealer around here I should know about?”

“Oh, I’ve got a dealer,” Lennon assured him, trying to keep himself from giggling as he passed the joint back to James. “His name’s Stephen. Brother of a friend of mine. Gives me a good deal, but apparently shitty weed.”  


“Mine’s named Skinny B, and she’s a real fucking trip, but I adore her anyway,” James admitted with a shameless shrug. “Her shit don’t come cheap, but it’s worth it to feel the release, you know? Especially around these parts of town. Kind of suffocating sometimes, not gonna lie.”

Yeah, Lennon knew something about that.  


He turned to face James and noticed his eyes were dark, rimming with a easy haziness, but still golden under the faint moonlight that manage to illuminate his delicate features. He didn’t seem angry or even disturbed, just pensive. 

“Are you feeling a release right now?” Lennon asked him.

James smirked. “No,” he said. He ran his finger along the ebb and flow metal swirls that decorated the balcony railing. His nails were painted a sheer gold. “I’m quite…content, though. I honestly can’t complain. Who would? It’s a beautiful night, albeit chilly, but we’re covered. Right?”  


James tugged at the end of the sleeve on Lennon’s coat.  


“Right,” Lennon agreed. “Can’t complain.”James suddenly stood up. Lazily and nearly toppling over, giggling as he looked back down at Lennon. He extended his hand out to him. “Have you ever had a _canelé_?”

Lennon gave him a look. “Can’t say that I have.”

“Wanna take a slight detour?”

-  


Rough starts always have rough endings; like the first time Lennon had met Gary Waterford in a restaurant where the waiters brushed the breadcrumbs off the table and only spoke in _Yes, sirs_ and _Of course, ma’ams_. There was an instant distaste that lingered under everyone’s tongue. They were not all blind to notice that there was something missing and whatever had rooted right then and there was already soiled and destined to wilt.  


The ending for tonight’s dinner started with: “Did you know the oldest building in New York City dates back to 1642?”  


They were situated in what felt like the longest red light in the history of Tinsley. Previously, the two brothers had been silence by their own thoughts, or rather, a vicious reluctancy to speak to each other for obvious reasons. But, as fate always had it, Miles loved to tower over any situation with the final word in edgewise. He ruined the comfortable silence by speaking up.

“Did you know I don’t really give a fuck,” Lennon muttered back, he was hunched down in the passenger’s seat of the car. He couldn’t look more like a sulky teenager if he tried. Seventeen was really weighing heavy on his shoulders.  


“I’m just trying to make conversation,” hummed Miles. “You don’t have to answer to me like that when I’m making an effort to be nice to you.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing for the past twelve years?”

That made Miles chuckle. His expression was mostly lost in the darkness, but he sounded tired. “Yeah, I think so,” he admitted. “You’re hard to get along with sometimes. Always wanna punch you in the face, to be honest.”

The words missed their punch with how indifferently he spoke them. He used to speak to Lennon like that when they first met those twelve years ago, back when they would shared the same transient hope and talked about how when they were older, statues were going to be built in their honor and their parents would marry and they would own their own boats.   


Now, Miles owned a used Ford Focus with a peeling steering wheel and a dark spot in the left back seat, where Lennon had thrown up last summer.

“I think maybe you’re upset with me because I won’t be going to New York.”

Lennon thought about it. “No,” he replied. “I don’t care if you go.” Lennon assured him. There’s a tilted acrimony to his tone. Perhaps he was just jealous that he wasn’t tied down to anything like Miles was. Miles had a proper job, proper lover, and a life that he had constructed for himself against all odds.

“Why are you taking 3rd Street? You can hardly see anything at this time of night.”  


Miles’ headlights were as old as the broken streetlight above them, teetering through a single electric cord and flowing with the wind. “It’s a shortcut to get back to the college,” he told Lennon, before quickly adding, “You could just say it? You always act like we all have to literally reach straight into your soul and pull the truth from you. I wish you actually had the courage to be honest.“

“I am honest.”

“So you can agree with me that yes, you were hanging around with the help?”

“Really? Did you just refer to them as ’_The help’?_ Now I can’t talk to people who don’t have shiny white teeth and a diamond encrusted bird shaped purses?” Lennon chided him. “And I don’t need to talk to you about that or anything for that matter because it doesn’t concern you.”

“See? This is what I mean when I saw we think you’re not courageous. Why can’t you just own up who you are?”

“Well, I guess I’m not courageous.”

“Well, maybe that’s why you’re going to New York then.”  


That was fucking rich. Lennon wanted to laugh, but he had already sense his high was finally wearing off. In it’s place, something ugly was beginning to grow. “Here’s a truth: I wish—_really wish_—that for once if your life you would shut up and get off my case. You’re not my keeper, so I don’t need you chewing me out everything change that you get.”

“If I don’t do it, who will? Mom? She lets you roam around and do whatever the hell you want just because she’s too busy dealing with other things. Who else is left, Lennon? Your dad? Is he suppose to keep you in check?”

“Well, I consider my self very lucky that no one wants to check in on me. Which gives you the complete and absolute freedom to fuck off,” Lennon concluded, un-clicking his seatbelt off and turning further away from Miles. He didn’t want to face or hear any more of his brother’s utter bullshit.  


The only sound that was left int he car was the quiet ticking from the car’s blinker. Miles exhaled a heavily as he merged into the oncoming road. He clicked his tongue. Then, “If you don’t want to go to New York, just say it. Maybe there’s a way—“  


“Oh my god, do you ever just shut the fuck up for once fucking second?!” Lennon cut him off, lashing out carelessly. “Can’t you take a hint? Or do I need to keep yelling for you to finally understand that I don’t care about it! New York, Mom, or Gary fucking Waterford!”  


Naturally, that’s when the crash happened.  


-  


The collision came full force, tossing the old Ford Fusion right up against the side of the road and nearly on its side. If it hadn’t been for the influx of rocks breaking the tipping point, they would be hanging upside down, with the weight of the car hanging over their heads. Instead, Lennon’s ears were still ringing with the horrible screech of the tires scraping against the concrete, and he could swear Miles was still screaming. Or had been screaming. Lennon couldn’t tell anymore.

The smoke came next.

Suddenly, the light around them felt overwhelming, no longer scarce, flashing before their faces as they crawled out of their seats to reach the ground.

“Are you okay? Oh, fuck—are you bleeding? Lennon!”

Lennon could hear him, but couldn’t bring himself to speak because his brain was still having trouble figuring out just how the fuck they had gotten into a car crash in the middle of fucking nowhere. And to the soundtrack of Blurred Lines, which surprisingly was still blasting through the Fusion’s shitty speakers.

“No, I’m not bleeding. Are you? What the hell happened?”  


Before them, the vehicle that had t-boned them was resting before them. A massive dent was wedged on the right side of its bumper, but otherwise the car was still standing.

The dust around them barely began to settle when the door swung open to reveal a pink haired stranger, wobbling for a few steps until he met the ground in one swift motion. The person was breathing hard, coughing amidst the large cloud of dust he had just created.  


Two other figures appeared shortly.

Lennon barely had the opportunity to study them when Miles was suddenly launched himself on top of the pink haired guy—he was a guy. Small, but feeble as fuck became they both easily dropped back into the ground hard. A loud thud echoed in the surrounding chaos.

Lennon cringed. Miles wasn’t light, he was heavy as shit. That guy didn’t stand a chance.

Julian. The others were calling him Julian.

“You little shits!” Miles cried, fisting his hands over the guys, who moaned in response. “You think you can just crash into us and run away? You almost killed you!”

“Dude, get off of him, he can’t breathe!” Someone shouted. “You’re going to suffocate him!”

“Not until we call the cops, because someone’s gonna pay to have my car fixed!”

“Miles, get off of him, Jesus Christ. You have a Fusion, who gives a fuck?” Lennon jogged a few feet where his brother was pinning down the pink haired Julian, when suddenly he was being shoved and kicked to the ground.

Kicked once on the side.

Twice on his shoulder.

“Got ‘em,” one of the other guys blurted out. Even through the faint light of what still remained from the Fusion’s busted headlight, Lennon could make out the large logo plastered over his pull-over hoodie. Lindley Shay High Panthers Junior Varsity Soccer.

“Stay down!” The stranger shouted at Lennon. He shoved him back against the earth, his filthy sneaker on top of Lennon’s chest to force him in place.

Lennon smacked his foot off of him. “Get…the fuck away from me,” he breathed out. “The hell is wrong with you?!”  


“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me, bitch!—“  


The taller out of the three pulled the soccer hoodie guy away from Lennon’s vicinity and called him Jackson. Jackson with a hell of an iron kick and bloodshot eyes. There was a eery sense of despair ooze out of his every frantic move. It almost felt like Lennon was looking into a mirror.

“Let’s go. _Now_.” The two guys didn’t even spare a glance at Lennon as they both darted towards Miles, who was still insistent on pinning down the pink haired bawling mess. It took two sets of arms to pry Miles away from the kid, and several attempts and kicks to finally find a lapse of weakness in the vicious wrath of Miles Clairmont.  


Within seconds, they were gone.

-  


_AHNN_

They had made it to a gas station by sheer determination. Most prominently Ahnn’s. Jackson and Julian were only added weights; true testament to their friendship and Ahnn’s patience.

The cashier had cocked an eyebrow as they all entered through the gliding doors of the convenience shop with a small ding announcing their arrival. The only other sounds were the loud smacking of her gum. She took one look at them, her owl eyes bright but droopy, and then decided to glance back at the magazine on the counter before her. She probably decided it wasn’t worth the small exchange. Not at one o’clock in the morning.

Ahnn agreed. Not at one o’clock in the morning.  


But Julian was bleeding. So, as much as he would have preferred they kept running to avoid any more surprises, they needed to clean him off and…well, get their asses home once and for all. They had been dragged through the dirt, forced into close proximities of actual human vomit, and fought off what now felt like a raging ogre that could have very well smashed Julian’s head in with as much as a slight flick of his pinky finger.

“God, this is so…gross,” Jackson whispered as they propped Julian over the bathroom sink counter. Every time their friend tried to take in a breath, he would cough into his hand, smothering it in more blood.

“Shut it,” Ahnn glared at Jackson.

As Julian got situated on the counter, Ahnn stole a moment for himself. His back met the cool surface of the wall, which erupted chills all over his spine. There were several bouts of fears and apprehension that littered his mind as he stood there, closing his eyes briefly. It was short lived, of course, because he couldn’t possibly allow himself to give into doubt. Although the two idiots before him were truly testing the last stitch of sanity somehow still intact in his brain, they needed him to stay focused. He needed himself to stay focused.  


At the end of it, when they would be past the point of this anger and frustration, the would be on the good side of things thinking this had been just a crazy night. Probably blame each other like they always did. Better yet, blame Ahnn because he hadn’t thought of doing this or making sure of that.

“What a night, huh?” Jackson spoke when a silent spell fell over the three trends. They were hardly like this. Quiet and pensive, keeping to themselves. They needed to witty quips and banter. “Sign me for round two next weekend?”

“Yep. Quite a night,” Ahnn agreed, voice too heavy and too tired. He pulled two paper towels from the dispenser. “Can’t wait to start forgetting all about it.”

“Yeah, same,” concurred Jackson quietly as he brushed away pink stray strands of hair away from Julian’s droopy face. “Honestly, I’m not even sure what I ended taking cause for a good hour, I felt like a champ and it wasn’t just because I talked to Macy Wong. Or maybe we made out instead…or I don’t know, but we did something. Can’t remember, but shit. What a life.”  


Ahnn shot him a look. He never understood the level of freedom Jackson was always so wrapped in. “Please don’t elaborate,” he insisted. The mental picture of Jackson tongue-fucking the sleaziest girl in class was reason enough to make him want to claw his eyes out.  


He folded the paper towel in hair as he gently tilted Julian’s face back to rest against the mirror. He kept taking in small, shuddering breaths, but other than that he was tamed.  


Until Ahnn presses the paper towel over his lip.  


_Smack!_

The harsh, wet sound echoed through the entire room. No one said a word. Ahnn felt it in an instant, but was more so stuck in a trance of _what the hell just happened?_  


“No, don’t kiss me,” Julian slurred as he reached forward to slap Ahnn again. “No more kisses.”

“Aw, fuck!” Ahnn cried as he stepped back, feeling the cooling sensation of the wet blood burst throughout the entire of his face. “Fucking stop, Julian. What the hell is wrong with you?_Gross_.”

“Jesus, Julian. Calm the hell down, will you?” Jackson chimed in belatedly. He was supposed to have been holding Julian back, restraining him as Ahnn cleaned him off.

Some shit job he was doing considering he failed about three seconds in.

Julian froze and looked up at them, his eyes puffy, suddenly wide and alert. His face was an absolute mess, perfectly designed to demonstrate why he, out of the three of them, should never be allowed near narcotics ever again. Blood, wet and dry, was smeared all over his face and even along his hairline. He’d definitely seen better days.

With one helpless sob, Julian buried his face in his hands and began to cry uncontrollably.  


“I’m…I’m sorry,” he muttered through his heaving breaths.

Well, shit.  


“Ahnn, you made him cry,” Jackson stated quietly as he rubbed small circles down Julian’s back.

“_Me_?! Did you forget he’s both of our problem right now?” Ahnn reminded Jackson harshly. He rubbed the paper towel over his own face desperately trying to clean himself off. Wiping the blood off before it began drying over his skin.  


“I’m so…so sorry, guys,” Julian stammered, crying loudly into his hands as he shook his hands frantically.   


“No, no—_Shhh_, come on now,” Ahnn soothed softly, biting his lip to keep from lashing out at Julian again because he was being so damn loud with his crying. If they found them all inside the single bathroom, crying, on the verge of tears, and covered in blood, something else was bound to give. And they weren’t going to be so lucky the third time around. “Hey, Jules. Look at me—_Julian_.”  


Julian shook his head, insistent on hiding his face in his hands. He was making himself seem small, which, in retrospect, wasn’t really out of character for him. Ahnn briefly wondered to himself just how sober Julian really was.  


“Julian, you need to calm down right now. If that lady hears us, she’s gonna call the cops. Shhh!—_Be quiet!_”

“You’re scaring him,” Jackson snapped at Ahnn, pushing him aside so he could stand before Julian. He began to gently tap his hands over Julian’s thighs encouragingly. “Hey homie, what do you say we clean you up and then we go home? I’ll buy you a candy on the way out? You just need to be quiet, okay? Because they’re gonna hear us.”

“You did not just fucking pushed me,” Ahnn breathed out, glaring at Jackson. “You really think you can do better than me? You can barely control yourself, what makes you think you can control Julian like this?”

“I’m trying to be nice to him. Something you’ve failed to do all night. Yeah, I fucking went there,” Jackson fumed. “And what about it, _hm_ Ahnn?”

Julian made a move to jump off the counter, but instead, he kind of awkwardly just slid aside and slowly made his way to the ground. He had successfully stopped crying into his hands, but had proceeded to hide his entire face inside the neckline of his purple sweater. “Jules, please come on,” Jackson called after him, failing to try to get the crying boy to at least sit up.  


Ahnn stepped back, feeling the heat in his cheeks getting to him and pushing him farther into the edge than he needed to be now. He felt so fucking hopefulness, and _scared_—it brought a different sense of fear into his chest and his body was begging to just get away from it all. Run. Run and stop thinking. Just run. Why couldn’t he just open the door and get the hell away from all of this?

What the fuck had even happened tonight? At what point in time today did he make the wrong turn, spoke the wrong phrase, or measured the wrong sense of stupidity to have landed him in a dirty gas station bathroom with his two friends playing stupid and stupider post a wild party that hadn’t even been that wild in the first place. Post finding Julian completing shitfaced. Post throwing some dude over a bridge. Post car crash.

And why—_why_ was Ahnn so compelled to stay here and be a part of this when he really wasn’t a part of any of this. He didn’t have to look for Julian back at the party. He didn’t have to follow Jackson as they embarked on a small search throughout the perimeters of Hayley Well’s house only to be forced to drive at least thirty minutes out of the skirts of downtown to find Julian making out with some guy trying more than just steal kisses from their friend.

“Ahnn, can you please help instead of just standing there?” Jackson called after him a minute later, irritated as he attempted to pull Julian away, who now kept trying to plant kisses on his cheek. “He’s…becoming clingy. Please, dude. Can you just help me.”  


“Okay, I’m done with this shit,” Ahnn decided. He turned around to find Julian now straddling Jackson on the ground, his hands being sternly restricted by Jackson, who kept turning his face away every which way Julian attempted to kiss him. “_You_, get up. Now. _Up_,” he ordered Julian.

Julian stopped. He looked up and furrowed his brows at Ahnn. Meanwhile, Jackson was able to gently push Julian off of his lap.

“You are going to get cleaned up and you are going to let us do it for you. _No_—don’t look at him, look at me,” Ahnn grabbed Julian’s chin and brought his attention back on him. The smaller boy’s eyes were red and he looked so fragile like this. Ahnn eased on his stern tone. “Do you understand? I am tired and—we are all tired, and we really need to go home and right now, this should’ve taken us five minutes, not twenty…I need you to nod with me.”

Julian slowly nodded in unison with Ahnn. From the corner of his eye, Ahnn noticed Jackson was nodding too. They were all nodding. They were all too fucked up for this shit, really. It was only fitting that they all agreed on that.  


When the coast was clear and the tears had ceased and the only sound in the bathroom was the water faucet running, things became little clearer. Purpose was restored and they were finally on board to keep going. Jackson held Julian back a little tighter and even whispered to Ahnn that he was sorry for being such a tit. Ann shrugged it off and said it was okay, and that they would hopefully be laughing all about it maybe in about a year or two, when all of these would definitely seem more funny than it did right now.

Ahnn folded another paper towel in half after running it under some warm water. He tenderly began wiping away the blood off of Julian’s tear stained face. Julian, who had latched onto Jackson’s arm and refused to leg go, finally remained still.

It was about two minutes of a controlled chaos.

Then, Julian slapped Ahnn again and told him, “I said no more kisses.”

-

_JULIAN_

**A thought before barging through his bedroom window:  
**

I’m gonna throw up.

Julian rested his forehead against the window glass. As he closed his eyes, he felt the entire world spinning so fast, he felt like he was about to just drop to the ground and never get up again. He kept holding a hand over his chest, giving himself small taps that failed to comfort him.  


The sun was beginning to rise as the morning light tickled the back on his neck.

After a minute, he dragged himself to stand straight once more, swallowing a large lump of guilt and regret on his throat as he pushed his window open and crawled inside into his bedroom. His landing could have been more graceful, but he had finally made it inside and was, by any accounts, home before anyone noticed he hadn’t been there all night.

At five-thirty in the morning, he called that a win and threw his body into his bed.

-

He only slept for three hours before Sunday morning was becoming too present for his liking. His sisters had awaken and already stirring noises and lousy pop music all over the house. He could feel his bedroom wall tremble to the beat of _thank u, next_.

Here’s what happens during three hours of sleep:

Hour 1: He had managed to shrug off his dirty and blood smeared sweater and made sure to tuck it away underneath his mattress so no one accidentally found it. The chilling sensation of his cold covers settled gently over his bare back as he willed himself to doze off to sleep. The way his bones hurt mimicked the ache that was stirring in his back, in his muscles, and chest. His mind was absolutely exhausted beyond repair; which had thankfully granted him a few short lulls of static noise where he wasn’t thinking.

Right now, he didn’t care about anything. Couldn’t be bothered to think about the details. Like the way Ahnn and Jackson stared at him as he frantically woke up at Ahnn’s place, throwing up straight into the trash bin that had been luckily placed by his bedside, and then announcing he needed to go home right away.

Like the way he felt when he felt a body firmly pressed over his and made his insides melt.

Like how he felt sharp, heavy breaths linger under his ear as he lost every ounce of control he could possible have.

Hour 2: His dreams are made of soft sounds and happy light.

So much light.

There’s no clarity, which is fine because Julian only wants to feel the weigh of a hand over his. Wants to feel the warmth and rise of his heart as he sighs and rests his head over someone’s broad shoulder. And smiles.

Why is he smiling so much?

The earth beneath his feet establishes something quite sedative; stable and alive.

He wants to stay like this for a while.

Hour 3: A happy memory. The starts. All of them resting over his head, giving him light. So much happy light.

He is nine years old and there’s a power outage in town. His baby sister is crying in her bedroom as his parents try to soften the harsh transition from light to dark. His older sister, Maia, is finding the flashlights and assuring everyone she’s got the situation under control; that there is no darkness without a little light to fight it all off.

Julian is outside underneath his fort, tapping his knees as he shivers in the middle of winter. The wind is frigid and clearly unforgiving, but he enjoys it. He enjoys this. Next to him, Jackson reminds him to zip up his sweater, but then just zips up the sweater himself and explaining more to Julian about the moon and the sun and how they had melted away all of the lights just for the stars.

“Hello, stars,” Julian says, looking up at the night sky.

He knows there will be no answer. He’s not foolish enough to believe there will be, but he enjoys the anticipation of _what if_. What if it just happened? When he didn’t think about it, when he wasn’t expecting anything from the starts, the sky, or the earth beneath his bare feet.

Next to him, Jackson whispers, “It’s possible if you we wait long enough.”

-  


Julian awoke with the a sharp breeze of icy water on his face

A little about mothers: Amanda Pae wasn’t lazy and didn’t expect her children to be lazy because laziness was derivative of imbecility. And as far as she was concerned, her three children were not imbeciles. But, lately they had been testing her great expectations with a shoulder shrug here and there and murmur of _I’ll do it later_. She hated the notion of being frivolous, because there was nothing granted, there was no security in thinking later would do.

Julian jolted awake, a little more than annoyed for the rude awakening. He didn’t snap, however. He knew the consequences to disrespecting his mother. She would never let him live it down. And he would never be taken off of dish washing duty at the restaurant.

Surely, the spray bottle was a better alternative than dumping a whole bucket of water over Julian’s face, right? (Amanda Pae had done so three times in her mothering career; one for every children.)

Worse things had unraveled in the Pae household before, but this was simply standard and a very direct reminder that Julian had Sunday duties to perform and in the long list of to-do’s nowhere did it mention he was allowed to sleep in past nine. He knew this, but still managed to completely fall off track, all of his best efforts post-last night included.

“What happened to your face?” Amanda gasped as she pulled Julian’s bedsheets to uncover a purpling bruise over what appeared to be split lip.  


“Mom, please knock next time,” Julian groaned as he sluggishly hid his face beneath the covers once more. He felt a spike in his heart rate as he realized what she had noticed and didn’t quite recall exactly how he had ended up with a busted lip. The embarrassment and fear spread over his flushed cheeks. Did it happen during the car rash or when Ahnn had been fighting…who the hell had Ahnn even fought last night?  


“Um, excuse me? I don’t knock doors or ask permission to come into the room in my own house,” she argued, tugging at the covers once more, but Julian wasn’t budging this time. “Did you not hear me ask you a question? Julian Pae, you better answer me—what in the world happened to you to make you look like this?”

His sisters busted through his bedroom door within seconds. Maia, the oldest, carried the youngest, Billie, on her back like some sort of spider monkey. “Can we see?!”  


“_Mom_,” Julian whined quietly. Still under the covers.

“Girls, go outside and play in the sun,” she didn’t even have to ask twice because the two girls retreaded their steps, their ears undoubtedly still peeled to catch any last moment’s explanation. The door squealed shut ridiculously low.  


“Well?”  


Julian reluctantly removed the bed covers from his face, but was still afraid to look at his mother in the eye. It felt like such an admission of guilt, of pure disgust because he didn’t know what had happened. He wanted to be honest, because he knew it was something was going to weigh on him for a long time if he didn’t just burst out and say _I think I did too much coke last night, and maybe a lot of pot, or maybe a lot of drinking or maybe a lot of everything?_ But how could he if he couldn’t rationalize it to himself? He didn’t know why he had done what he did and why it had taken him to such a shitty state of mind.

“Jackson and I got in a fight,” he blurted out, still refusing to meet his mother’s questioning gaze.

His mother didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then, she hummed and walked closer to Julian to bring his face in closer for inspection. Her thumb gently dabbed over the single red line that ran down the length of his swollen bottom lip. “Jackson Kim? Your friend Jackson?”

Julian winced and turned away, nodding. “Um…Yeah, but it was a stupid fight,” he explained quickly. “It didn’t mean anything, Mom. You can relax, please.”  


The woman watched her son with a careful eye for a few moments. The afternoon light that showered through the window just beside Julian’s bedroom made her look absolutely mighty, like she was already at least three steps ahead of whatever bullshit move Julian was plotting next. Sometimes it felt like the held the entire weight of the world at the edge of her fingertips and thrived from it. She knew how to move mountains, grain by grain.

“It looks like he really hurt you,” she pointed out firmly. “What did you both fight about?”  


“A girl.”

As soon as he said it, Julian wanted to take the word back, swallow it, and choke on it instead of seeing the reaction that overtook his mother’s features.

Her black beady eyes widened. “He did this to you over a girl? Are you freaking kidding me? Look at you Julian! You might even need stitches because it looks like it hasn’t stopped bleeding properly.”  


“No, mom. Please. I’m okay—it doesn’t even hurt anymore. I promise,” he begged, reaching out to pull on her hand as she was about to walk away with the promise to phone the Kim household and have a strong word with Jackson’s mother. “He should be ashamed to have done this to you! What has gotten in his mind?”  


“You know, it all comes back to values and that boy has clearly been missing something.,” she continued shouting all throughout the house. "Missing what exactly? I don’t know nor is it my business to figure it out. For starters they allow the kid to just run around and make foolish mistakes! What kind of self-respecting Korean mother allows their kid to run around everywhere saying he’s a ‘_vegetarian_’. What kind of business is that? I’ll tell you it’s not mine. The only business I’m interested is making sure that my kids don’t come home with bruises all over their faces because of senseless violence,” she declared with a stomp of her foot. “I swear, Min-See is gonna hear an earful from me.”

Julian followed his mother out to the living room, where she was already heading to pick up the phone, huffing on more about bruises and the disrespect. “I hope Jackson answers because he just made the list!“

Oh, no. Not the list.  


“Mom, wait,” Julian snatched the phone from her. The fume in her eyes narrowed as she stared at him expectantly. _Explain yourself_, her death glare insisted. “I…um. God, I mean, you just—I mean,” he began, stumbling over his words and his thoughts and even his awful balance. He leaned against the sofa and exhaled. “I’m so…Mom, can you please talk to me first. I’m…upset because of this girl. I really liked her and…”

His mother’s eyes softened, but there was still a rigidness to her expression. “Yes?” She shook her head, urging him to finish.

“I really liked her,” he breathed out, looking at the ground. “I had a crush on her and things…things went wrong and now…she doesn’t even talk to me and I can’t. I just don’t know what to do because she also likes Jackson and that’s why we got in a fight and—well, I miss her and I just want to please talk to you about it.”

There was nothing soft about Amanda Pae. Which is why her next words were a startling revelation to the suspicion that under her skin, she held a patch of compassion only reserved for her kids and solving murder mysteries on the Discovery Channel.  


“Okay,” she answered curtly, snatching the phone back from Julian. She pointed the receiver end towards him. “Go do your Sunday chores and then we can talk. I’ll drive you to get ice cream and blueberries. Then, we will stop by the pharmacy and get something to help with the bruising on your lip. Got it?”

“Yes,” he nodded instantly. Feeling so relieved he could cry. “Yes, I will get on the chores right away.”

Then, he realized the car wasn’t going to be there.


	2. Chapter 2

_LENNON_   


**A few moments after the suffocating air and “What are you doing here”, part 2:  
**

The canelés were probably too sweet and sugary, but somehow Lennon had managed to eat seven in just one sitting. The rum he was washing the pastries down with was a real chaser to the overwhelming amount of sugar he was intaking. “These little sugary poops are actually pretty tasty,” he mumbled as he stuffed number eight into his mouth, nearly missing.

Across from him, James sat watching him with a soft smile on his lips as he cradled a half empty bottle of rum they had stolen from one of the cabinets. “Sugary poops?” he echoed thoughtfully. “I’m not gonna lie that almost sounds kinda tasty?”  


Lennon threw him a canelè, which he failed to catch and just ended up laying over the crotch in his pants. “You better eat that before I do,” he said, pointing.  


James glanced down at the pastry and chuckled. “You can have it if you want, but you have to come and get it,” he offered. A smile lifted his rosy cheeks and it kind of made Lennon blush a bit.

James had snuck them both into one the back prep kitchens, where everything in sight was an absolute mess. So naturally, they figured they weren’t going to be easily spotted. Not when ten used whisks and several half-empty round pans of cake were haphazardly blocking the entrance door and it’s surrounding vicinity. The worst of it was the giant chocolate handprint all over the fridge. That honestly just looked like literal shit. James and Lennon laughed about it more than they should have when they first saw it.

They were seated behind some steel kitchen counters, trying to hide but failing miserably because Lennon kept almost falling on his side. He had eventually migrated a little closer to where the stoves were located, his back mostly visible to anyone who might come through the door. James had asked him to get closer, but for some reason Lennon was secure in himself that he was, in fact, well protected by the loner cake pan a good two feet behind him.

The weed and several shots of rum may have impaired his hindsight, but he felt a little careless and he liked it.

He liked James. Well enough at least. His scent had become something that was slowly driving Lennon a little crazy every time he got a whiff of it. If he was more drunk, he’d probably do something about it and jump straight into James’ lap and burry his nose into his chest.

Fuck it, he kept thinking the more he thought about where he was and what James’ intentions probably were. It’s not like it hadn’t happened before, and in desperate times, Lennon wasn’t one to look the other way. If he was forced to be in this shitty place, in an event moderated by dozens of power-suits and pearls and Gucci loafers, he might as well be high and next to a large platter of French pastries while looking at something pretty for a change.  


“My dad made these, you know,” James said as he leaned his entire weight against the metal shelf behind him. “He’s a pastry chef. Studied in France and everything.”  


“Bless him,” Lennon took another bite of the canelès. “For how long?”  


James stretched his arms over his head, moaning a little. “Years and years,” he replied. “It’s where he met my mom. After they popped out a kid a few years down the road, they had a change of heart and wanted something smaller, more warm and blue like Little Owlings. Then that got too blue, so they wanted something more dense like Tinsley.”  


“Tinsley isn’t dense, it’s people are.”

“The people make the city. Don’t they?”  


Lennon didn’t want to disagree, so he just nodded. “So, by popping out a kid, you mean yourself? A little French-Asian baby?”  


“Yep. Guess you could put it like that.”

“So, you’re telling me you were born in France?”

James nodded. The lights were a little too dim in the kitchen, but Lennon could still notice the small trace of gold glitter over his eyelids. “In Nice, actually. Lived there till I was seven.”  


“Say something in French then. Prove it.”  


James sighed. He was silent for a moment, probably thinking of something to say, and then, after clearing his throat, “_Les étoiles savent que nous sommes amoureux_”  


Lennon grinned like an idiot. Why the hell was he so turned on by that bloody language? He’d been taking French in school for the past year and never once did he feel like this. “That sounded really good…Even though I have no idea what you said.”  


“My French isn’t very good anymore, but I could get around France if I needed to.”

“I’d assume as much. So, what did you say? I still have no idea.”

“You could just look it up,” James suggested. “It’s something my parents use to say to each other. My dad read it once in a book and it stuck.”  


“Why can’t you just tell me?”  


James shook his head, reaching out and poking Lennon’s nose. “Nah. I’ll let you figure it out. By the way, you wanna hear how pretentious my dad is?”

Lennon nodded, leaning in to be closer to James.   


James giggled before he spoke. _Giggled_. And it suddenly felt like the angels were singing and Lennon’s last working braincell was doing backflips inside his head.  


“Now, I love my dad; he’s a cool dude, but fuck, he is pretentious as hell and he knows it,” he explained mid-laugh, “He’s straight up from Seoul, born and raised, but always loved going to poetry readings, drinking cheap wine, binging sad French films and saying _excusez moi_ every chance he got. He was a relentlessly chi-chi. You should see some phots of when he was younger.”  


“If he’s not wearing a beret, I’m not buying it.”  


James smile grew large. “Oh, there’s a galore of berets, trust me. Anyway, after I was born, he decided to named me after one of his two favorite French composers: Jean-Philippe Rameau and Florent Schmitt. I never even stood a chance. Like? Jesus, he’s really lucky I love him cause otherwise I could’ve wound being a real snooty, classy bitch.”  


“You’re not classy?”  


“Nope. Just a bitch,” James replied, which made them both laugh.  


“What’s your name?” Lennon blurted out suddenly, brow furrowed. He was struck with the urge to run his fingertips through James’ hair and needed to keep himself busy so as not to indulge himself too soon.

“James,” came the belatedly reply from the blue haired boy. “How high are you—“

“Your French name, home boy,” Lennon cut him off, urging at him to just say it. “What is it?”  


James rolled his eyes but still managed to smile. He paused for a second and then, “James Jean-Philippe Florent Choi.” As Lennon burst out in a raging fit of laughter, he added, “It’s a little too much—“  


Lennon shook his head, nearly falling back as he continued to laugh. “_No_—Lennon Moon Young is a little too much for my taste, but, _shit_, I don’t even remember what you said cause I’m honestly a little too shitfaced to remember all of those syllables. Oh my god, what the fuck? How do you walk around with a name like that?”

“You don’t like it?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“So, you hate it.”

Lennon reached out and placed his hand over James’ mouth to keep him from talking. He just felt like doing it and didn’t even know why he was doing it. “Fuck no,” he told James in a soft whisper that slowly turned into yet another fit of laughter. “God, what an awful—but like, still beautiful name? Wait no…I’m sorry. I can’t even believe myself as I’m saying it. Your name is shit, dude.”

James reached up to bring Lennon’s hand away from his mouth. “Don’t dude me, bro.”

“_Bro?_,” Lennon feigned a shudder. “I’d rather be your dude than your bro any day of the week.”

“I was only joking, you know,” James admitted after a minute of silence. He took a hearty swig of the bottle of rum, capped the bottle, and then sent it rolling to the other side of the kitchen. He turned to shove Lennon with hardly any force. “Hey, Here’s another French word for you: _Connard_. You’re a rude _connard_.”

Lennon recognized that word, which brought a goofy smile to his lips. “What’s your actual name then,” he prompted expectantly.  


“Just James Alexander Choi.”

In spur of the moment, he decided he wanted to kiss James. He wanted to kiss the stars in his eyes. “I…I-I need to stand up and…breathe,” he drawled, struggling to perch himself up by the end of the counter above him. “Shit man, I love your French and your stupid, pretty French name too. Whoa, I really need to breathe.”

“You can’t breathe sitting down?” James asked, trying hard not to smile as he watched Lennon fail to stand up.

“No, I cannot,” Lennon breathed out. He managed to get to his knees, but that was about as high as he could get, pun intended. “Come here,” he waved at James, who just gave him a strange look. “_James Alexander_. Get the hell up!”  


Slowly, James stood up, but was quickly brought down to his knees by Lennon, who kept insisting they were leveled. He was a good foot away from Lennon, but again, Lennon kept egging him to move closer to him. At this point, he felt his head an absolute mess of pretty gold flecks and the color blue.

**Inane details about Lennon Young: **he was apathetic for the most part, but reckless where it counted most. And right now, he could see stars in James eyes and there wasn’t anything he really wanted besides getting lost in them for a little bit.

For a moment, they were so close.

Close enough that Lennon could count the glitter that has fallen down James’ cheekbones. He could feel his heart racing because he really want wanted to reach up and run his finger over all of the fucking gold over the boy’s face. “So, how lame would it be if I asked you if you knew how to French kiss?”  


James looked a little taken back, but he didn’t look away and stared back at Lennon. He scoffed softly, “yeah, it would pretty fucking lame,” he said, biting the corner of his lip. “But, true.”  


“So, is this the only reason you brought me back here?”  


“To a dirty kitchen, so I could stuff you with sugar and weed and eventually end up like this? What kind of gentleman would I be?”  


Lennon felt like his heart was going to rip through his chest, but he wanted this so bad. He couldn’t help but to smile at James as he reached forward and snaked his fingers to the back of James’ neck.

“Thought you were sad tonight,” James’s murmured quietly. “When I first saw you, I could literally sense it in the way you leaned over the railing like a sad character in a shitty romance novel.”

Lennon shrugged one shoulder lazily. “What can I say? I like to kiss people when I’m sad. It’s one of my better traits. Or so I’ve heard.”  


“Glad to know you have a reputation.”  


“Comes with the name, I guess.”

James’ eyes briefly glanced down to Lennon’s lips. They were inches apart. James was taking his time to lean in, meanwhile Lennon was eagerly closing the distance between them when he felt James’ hand suddenly grasp his side. “Someone’s coming,” he suddenly blurted out.  


Just as Lennon barely had time to utter the words, “What?” The double doors swung open. The two boys scattered to the ground, crawling to get back behind the counter. The footsteps were heavy—a pair of high heels and dress shoes clinking through the hard floors. “Are you sure this is the best course of action? What about the journalist—this…what was he name again? Min-See Kim? Can’t we just reach out to her—_Lennon_, is that you?”  


“_Fuck_. Fucking shit,” Lennon muttered under his breath. Hastily, he stripped off his coat and blazer, tossing it over to James. “Take these. Keep em, if you want!”

“I don’t want this. What are you doing—“

Lennon pressed his index and middle finger to his lips and then reached out to press them against James’ lips. “It was nice to meet you,” he whispered to him.

Then, he forced himself to stand up.  


“Mom,” he said as a form of greeting, clearing his throat and running a hand over his middle to smooth out his wrinkled dress shirt. He looked over at Gary, frowning. “Gerald.”  


“What are you doing here?” His mother wondered, her wide brown eyes never leaving Lennon’s every movement.   


Marie and Gary were still at the foot of the doors. Both of their expressions were an ill mixture of concern and conjecture as they glared at Lennon half-walking, half-wobbling towards them. “Enjoyed dinner?” Gary monotoned as Lennon finally reached them.  


“It was splendid,” Lennon mimicked the older man’s flat tone. “Though, you ought to really try the canelès. Fucking mouthwatering, I tell you.”  


Gary wasn’t amused in the slightest. “I’ll take your word for it,” he mumbled grimly.  


“Well then, I guess I’ll be out there mingling with others. Chatting and shit. Oh, and Mom?” Lennon asked as he held the door open. His mother’s concerned gaze continued to follow him. “I’ll see you guys out there?”  


Marie sighed, feigning a laugh as she simply nodded. She kept looking between Lennon and Gary, “Yes, darling. Shall we go, Gary?”  


Gary might’ve or might’ve not been pissed at the sudden switch of conversation but he didn’t make it know. Instead, he insisted in his boring, monotoned replies and political gestures. With his hand resting on the small of Marie’s back, he smiled and said, “We shall.”

-

_AHHN_   


The day was going…exactly as a day after last night could expect to go. Languid and spiraling down into to a tough, desolate pool of realization. Which was only half surprising given the many grating episodes that occurred in the span of just one night. The biggest reminder was in the way Ahnn’s body was literally sore everywhere, he didn’t want to think about it too much, because it seemed to be present in his every movement anyway.

After an early morning wake up call from, both, Julian sneaking off to go home and Aunt Jenny taking off for work, he had a lot of trouble going back to sleep. Granted, it had only been around 8am, which shouldn’t have messed with his sleeping cycle too much, but there was something else keeping him from just laying down and resting. He figured that later today he was most likely going to find out.

“Do you collect homework or something? Cause you have the biggest collection I’ve ever seen,” Jackson commented a quarter pass ten, after they had been basically awoken and dragged out of bed by their rumbling stomachs.  


Ahnn continued to pour some milk into his cereal bowl, not even bothering to look up. He knew Jackson’s gaze was hyper-fixated on the several piles of untouched books and course work towering high on the dining table next to them. “It’s a controlled chaos,” he explained to his nosy friend. “I have a method that works. Trust me.”  


“Such as?”

“Just worrying about my shit. You should try that sometimes.”

“Ooh, that’s spicy of you, man. But seriously, you should probably work on it cause we have like five months of school left and—Hey, why don’t you just get Julian to help you like he helps me?”  


Ahnn didn’t even have to ponder that suggestion. “Because Julian would just end up doing all of my work like he does with you,” he said. “I got this. It’ll all be done, trust me.”  


Jackson munched loudly on a granola bar. “Oh, I always trust you, Ahnn The Man,” he grumbled through a mouthful. He swallowed before continuing. “My first mistake was not trusting you and look at where we are now. Did you know I have a bruise on my ass? A literal bruise!”

Ahnn sighed. Okay, they were going to address last night eventually. Might as well be over a bowl of soggy cereal rather than later.

“No bruise or ass talk, okay?” he warned Jackson, who was already on the verge of laughter. “My sisters are still asleep and I don’t want them snitching on me cause they overhear that we stole a car.”

“Borrowed,” Jackson corrected him. “But, then we lost it, so. Technically, we’re the biggest criminals in Tinsley right now. Julian being the worst, cause _God_ _damn_, he can get rowdy.”  


After they had left the gas station last night, Julian had shifted back and forth between glee and disappointment. Ahnn preferred disappointment rather than his glee disposition, which kept leading Julian to almost run into oncoming traffic trying to ‘hug the sun’. At least when he was sad, Jackson would just hold their friend and simply talk him through his high comedown.  


“He just needed to blow off some steam,” Ahnn resonated. “There are limits, though. And he really pushed mine last night. Kind of don’t want to talk to him for a few days, to be honest.”  


“Do you think he’s gay?”

It had come as a surprise to both of them, Jackson’s question. Because they had both, at some point, had wondered the same thing. Not just last night, but perhaps in the years that precedes that moment. As far as Ahnn was concerned, he didn’t care of put much thought into it, but sometimes he did wonder if maybe Julian was secretly swinging a whole different direction than the rest of them. Simply because he hardly ever talked about girls and even then when he did make a comment, he says something super respectful like “Her smiles lovely” or “she’s got nice teeth.” Again, not out of the norm, but just normal enough to be questionable.

“I don’t know?”’Ahnn answered honestly as he tapped his spoon on the edge of his bowl. “I mean everyone has instances where we drink too much and get so sloppy we don’t even know who we kiss.”  


“Yeah, but…” Jackson struggled to continue. He shifted awkwardly in his seat and lowered his voice as he leaned in closer to Ahnn. “He kept trying to kiss me. In the bathroom. Remember?”  


“He thought _I_ was trying to kiss him. He didn’t know what he was doing.”  


“Well, he knew to get in the car with that asswipe that was trying to butt rape him, didn’t he?”  


Ahnn really didn’t want to think about that. “He was under heavy influence, dude. There’s a difference. It can happen to anyone us.”  


“No, but like…I don’t know it just felt strange, is all. Seeing him like that.”

“Again. He was just a sloppy drunk and we aren’t used to seeing him like that. Plus, who wouldn’t want to kiss those baby cheeks of yours?”  


Jackson retreated back as Ahnn reached forward to try and pinch his cheek. He chuckled awkwardly. “I get what you mean, but he…ah, never mind.”  


“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just thinking too much about it,” Jackson dismissed easily, leaning back on his chair and stuffing his face with another granola bar. “‘S stupid that I even brought it up. Who gives a shit?”

Ahnn could sense that it was very possible that Jackson was the one that gave a shit since he asked, but he didn’t want to press the issue on the very principle of just wanting to leave last night well in the past, where it belonged. It’s also seemed very likely that Julian was simply too focused on school and too shy to really land any girl, which could have also been a valid theory.

And, really? Who gives a shit.

Instead, he shrugged and agreed with his Jackson and they ate the rest of their breakfast mostly in silence.  


-

A little past noon, Jackson was picked up by his father to be taken to his soccer conditioning event thing or whatever (Ahnn could barely stay awake during his games, let alone learn the proper terminology). Ahnn took the opportunity to attempt to work or literally anything except his course work.   


He realized he was a lazy piece of shit, but he had a plan of action and he wasn’t just going to ruin it by skipping steps and being overly responsible. It turned out, he was an excellent procrastinator. His sheer purpose to just add unnecessary stress to himself all the while pretending that he was doing perfectly okay translated to him as full control of what he did or didn’t do. His methods were kind of self destructive, but again. He had a method.   


“You’re going to drive yourself insane one day,” Aunt Jenny told him during her lunch break. She worked at an insurance office about a ten minutes away often dropped by to eat lunch. Today, she was in the midst of frying up some left over kimchi rice.

“Meaning,” Ahnn prompted her. He was slouched over the sofa, channel surfing the Sunday TV like a zombie. There was nothing on except trashy reality television.

“Ahnn, I saw the time you got home last night. What were you thinking?”  


“I wasn’t,” he answered honestly, turning the TV off.  


Aunt Jenny walked over to stand in from of the television screen, arms crossed and all; like a proper adult. “I’m glad we’re agreeing on this so far. I mean, not just you, but Jackson and Julian. And Julian was a little more worse for wear than any of you. Yes, I heard him crying in your room.”  


Julian wasn’t crying. He was whining, which was an entirely different concept. “He had a rough night,” Ahnn justified, shrugging. “We took care of him, AJ. Nothing happened.”

She walked back into the kitchen to tend to her fried rice, “I find that hard to believe. I know you were the mastermind behind it all.”  


Again, not true. “Why do you assume it’s me?”  


“Because those two have been following you like lost puppies their entire lives.”

“That’s excessive.”

She went quiet for a little bit as she focused on taking her lunch off the stove. After she dumped the pan into the kitchen sink, she exhaled heavily. “I found your pills,” she admitted unabashedly.

Well, shit. That was…unexpected. Ahnn stirred nervously on the couch. “Those are just so I stay focused.”  


Maybe it hadn’t been the correct answer to ease the tension, but Aunt Jenny still found a way to marry the two into a life lesson. “Then start up here,” she walked back to Ahnn and tapped her index finger over his left temple. “Trust me. If you’re busy helping yourself how are you supposed to help others?”  


-  


So, there was definitely something wrong with Ahnn Ra.  


There had always been from the beginning, but he had ways of coping with whatever mess generated inside his brain. For so long, he had fabricated the belief that if he didn’t think about it, he would be released from the constant discomposure.  


Up until recently, it had worked very well. But then again, he was running out of his medication and suddenly, the bigger picture was hard to ignore.

“Ahnn Ra,” a nurse called him at the front reception desk. Her shrill voice echoed through the small clinic, bouncing off the walls of competing with the cartoons playing on the television for the most obnoxious sound ever. “Come through this door, please. The doctor will be seeing you soon, but we have some questions first.”  


Wonderful. As if coming in to this dingy hole in the wall wasn’t starting to feel repetitive enough as it is.  


The problem was, as always: “That you keep coming along without parental supervision.”  


“No, I don’t need a supervisor anymore. See, here it says my date of birth: March 1st. I just turned eighteen and don’t need an adult present,” Ahnn argued with the nurse once he got granted access to the back.  


This was the third time he had to explain it to them in the past three months.

“If you had come along with either your mother or father—“

“Well, they’re both dead, so. Unless you want me to call upon to their ghosts from the beyond then…it’s gonna be just me.”

“You don’t have anyone else?”

That was debatable. Still, Ahnn shook his head. “No.”

“Well, next time you should really think about purchasing a state issued photo ID to prove you really are eighteen. That way we won’t get confused because we’re seeing your school ID,” the nurse suggested. She waved carelessly at the medical bed beside them. “Have a seat. The doctor should be in to see you shortly. I apologize for the inconvenience.”  


Ahnn rolled his eyes at her, to which she noticed and wasn’t afraid to send him a glare as she exited the room.  


In her wake, Ahnn started to feel a little out of place. Which wasn’t something new today or the last two times he had come here. He had felt variations of this his entire life.

He didn’t belong here, was the thing. He wasn’t going to allow himself the freedom to feel this low this easily, but the mere medicinal scent all around him was definitely pushing him. Why did all clinics and hospitals have the same pungent smell? He wanted to feel better, but hated the fact he had to feel this bad first.  


“Why are you feeling bad?” The doctor asked. Everyone of his moments was intensified in the eery silence inside the small room. “The last time you were here you were a little worse for wear, but today you seem better.”  


Better? That was new. Last night he had taken about four shots of tequila, so perhaps that was his true remedy.

Ahnn made sure to make a mental note of that.  


“I’m..not,” Ahnn told the older man quietly. He felt so weird explaining things about himself. He wasn’t good at it. “I’m not feeling bad, I mean. I still…I feel like I’m not myself. I just need something to help me get focused. I’ve got a lot of school work that I haven’t been able to focus on and…I really need to.”

“I’m not sure the medication is the correct route for you,” the man said thoughtfully. “Have you considered therapy?”  


“No. I don’t need it.”  


“You’re here for a reason, right?”  


“Yes. And it’s not for a recommendation to see a shrink.”  


The man looked up from the clipboard he was holding. Ha blue eyes were distant and kind of cold. “Just saying. It can help you. You’re young enough to benefit greatly from it,” he mumbled.

“I really wouldn’t. Thanks for the suggestion, though.” Or in other words, Ahnn was basically telling him to fuck off and sign the damn prescription order already. Why was this such a game every time?  


“You’re here for a reason,” the doctor said again, lips pressed into a thin line. His gaze on Ahnn was unwavering.  


“I’m here because I have to be and there’s no other way around it, not because I want to be,” Ahnn retorted, half mumbling. When he noticed the doctor kept jotting a bunch of stuff down in his clipboard, he grimaced and realized he needed to be a little more clear if he wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

“Symptoms?”

Ahnn didn’t even think about it. He didn’t feel like it. “Just restless nights.”  


“That it?”

“Basically, yeah.”

**Here is his truth in the shape of a lie:**

When Ahnn was twelve years old, he tried to break his arm because his father was dying.

The way he saw it, pain deters the senses and demands to be felt. When he felt it, there was no denying that there was suddenly something inside of him that wouldn’t leave him no matter how hard he tried to otherwise. So, the sadness was there. The only way he dealt with it was by masking it with something greater; a distinguished hurt that made sense, that he could control. He knew why his arm could brake, but at the time, he couldn’t understand why his father was suddenly dying.

In the end, he wasn’t able to break his arm, and that pain never really quite left him even after his father passed.

**Here is another truth in the shape of a lie:**

The doctor was persistent on asking question, which was really pushing Ahnn over the edge. He knew the doctor had to do that, it’s his damn job, but why did he keep asking him to dig deeper into himself to justify a visit to a clinic for more pills to ease his mind.

“I don’t have a shitty life and I don’t want to kill myself, I just need help getting my life together,” Ahnn began, nervously rubbing his palms together.  


“People don’t always have feel those things to feel what you’re feeling. Sometimes life can be as simple as can be, but it doesn’t mean our thoughts are.”  


The older man stared at Ahnn, examining him rather extensively because he remained quiet for almost two minutes. “Sometimes,” he began again, pulling up his clipboard again and writing more on it. “It’s not all in our heads, our worries and fears. If we ignore a problem with another problem it only builds a plethora of headaches. I hope this is the only problem you got, kid.”  


Yeah, Ahnn hoped so too.

The doctor didn’t offer more wisdom, and instead gave up. He wrote down a prescription for Ahnn, who had to pay almost ninety fivers just to get told he needs to avoid having problems if he wanted to feel better.

-  


Four days out of the week, Ahnn worked at a local supermarket as a stocker.

The store was actually situated in a relatively nice part of downtown Tinsley, which was mostly frequented by upperclass housewives and the local college professors. He enjoyed the distraction more than the misery he was being paid, which said something in regards to his mental stability; a year ago he wouldn’t work for less than six an hour and he was now getting by on four-fifty.  


“You’re late,” was the first thing his manager, Wayne, told him. He was a tall man with a large beer belly and a disgustingly unkept beard that went down to the middle of his chest.  


At two minutes after four, Ahnn preferred not to even bother looking for the problem in that. He thought he had calculated enough to get to work from the clinic, but he had forgotten to account for every single fucking second, apparently. “The buses were crammed. I had to take an extra one to get here. And—“  


“I like punctuality, you know that. I believed you to be responsible when I first hired you. Don’t make me change my mind,” he lectured the younger boy. He then pointed towards the back of the store, “Go help Jamison with the delivery truck out back. The strawberries are going to soil if they’re not placed in the walk-in fridge right away. And tell Elise to run inventory.”  


“Elise is back?” Ahnn’s head snapped up. “Since when?”

When Ahnn received nothing but a blinding glare from Wayne, he simply took off walking towards the back.  


“…The knowledge comes from the printed words and obviously it comes at a price to those that constantly try to silence those who are already quiet,” came a buzzing from the old backroom stereo. The static wasn’t as awful as Ahnn recalled, but that was because he usually hated listening to the radio. Much less the news. “…the spectacle here is the way that this whole ordeal is gonna try to be silence, which will definitely be something to watch. Waterford’s really going to have to pull some major media control…the papers are already having a field day with this one…”

“God! Why is it such a big deal?” Jamison Stark whined loudly from across the backroom. “Who doesn’t splurge a little every now and then? And for a good cause? The man is a legend, get out of here with that B.S against him!”  


The lunatic hadn’t realized Ahnn was approaching, which made his dialogue seem even more pathetic. Out of the twenty-seven employees Grocer Farms held, it seemed a recurring chance that Ahnn was always scheduled to work with Jamison. Sure, it might’ve been an age thing, considering they went to the same high school, but they couldn’t be more polar opposites. In every aspect imaginable. Jamison, on the other hand, felt they shared some common interests.

Skateboarding. Girls. Working at the same place. Breathing. Oh, and Gary Waterford, who had apparently been accused to money laundering or some shit.  


”Please shut up,” Ahnn warned Jamison as soon the guy noticed him come in. He continued before Jamison had a chance to spit out more words. “I already know where this conversation is going to lead.”  


Jamison threw his hands in resignation. ”Don’t gotta say anything,” he offered defensively. “The people know my good ol’ man G. Waterford cares for the sanity of us youngins.”

_Youngings_? God, he was an idiot.  


“Besides, who wouldn’t want to donate fifty-thousand to The Living Truth? They’re the ones who actual keep those slouchy homeless from polluting the streets and all of the homos locked away.”

“You mean criminals. Not homos,” Ahnn humored the sleazeball. There’s only so much to do while putting away crates of strawberries. Besides, he needed to vent having lost his entire savings in a single visit to the doctor. “Waterford’s a prick anyway, whether he supports one organization or another.”  


“He’s helped many elders find housing and helped provide funding for mental hospitals for kids who are sick in the head.”  


“Really? Then you must really be glad about that.”  


“You’re such an peasant, Ra. Of course you wouldn’t understand.”  


“And Gary Waterford is still a prick. Just like you.”

Jamison clicked his tongue and turned towards Ahnn, hip slanting a little. “You’re the prick. He is a successful man who runs a city that would no doubt be well beneath the dirt if it wasn’t for his efforts to—_Ahhh!_ Jesus fuck, Elise! Don’t sneak up on my like that!”  


Jamison had fallen flat on his arm to a bed of strawberries. Elise, who couldn’t control her laughter just stared at him as he scrambled to get up but couldn’t. Six months hasn’t been such a long time, but it had surely changed her where it counted. Her cheeks were fuller, her blonde hair now dipped in purple, contrasting awfully against her dark green work polo. Her eyes were a little brighter, but still looked empty.

“Help me, you jackasses,” cried Jamison, waving his arms trying to sit up. He looked like a very stupid, very sizeable turtle turned upside down. Ahnn made no move. He wouldn’t spit on Jamison even if he was on fire, let alone grab his hand to help him up.

Elise looked up, her big beautiful smile wide as she noticed Ahnn looking back at her. Then, she ran to wrap her arms around him in on swift motion. “Ahnn!” she shouted joyfully. “It’s so good to see you!”  


Ahnn was taken back. He felt her warmth pressed against him and it felt euphoric; familiar and stable. Had it really been six months since he saw her? Suddenly, it felt much longer.

Elise Soh smelled of roses and cigarettes and at first it hadn’t been a pleasant smell, but it something that grows on you. She was the kind of person that knew how to slowly crawl her way though anyone’s reservations, building herself a home in just about anybody.

“You’re back,” was all Ahnn could say though her bone crunching embrace. She was small, but held a death-like grip quite impressively.  


“How have you been?” She asked as she pulled away.

“Good. Busy with school and stuff,” he told her. It was such a generic answer. He was okay with that. “How’s school going for you? I didn’t realize the college got out earlier than the rest of the schools.”  


Her smile faltered a little. “It doesn’t,” she admitted, reaching forward and wrapping a finger over one of Ahnn’s belt loops and bringing him closer. “One thing I can say with whole hearted honesty: college fucking sucks if all you can do is be sad and eat chocolate.”

“Oh,” Ahnn said flatly.

He didn’t mean to sound uninterested, but this wasn’t the first time he had spoken to Elise about her sadness. If anything, they were polar opposites in that respect. She was gregarious and loved life, but when it came to expecting something back, well, that always etched something in her emotions that Ahnn was never quite capable of understanding. She lived to the vivacity of her own struggles, and was an open book to anyone willing to listen. Him, on the other hand, loved to suffer in silence. 

Elise exhaled heavily, chuckling little towards the end like it wasn’t such a big deal. “Such is life,” she waved it off carelessly. “I heard you got a crazy at the Ritters party last night, though. Please tell me you tried Molly, Ahnn. _Please_.”

“Who told you that?”

“Excuse me?” Jamison cut in. He had managed to get himself up from the bed of strawberries, although his white denim pants were now smeared with red stains. He looked like he was on his period. “Did we forget we need to work? Wayne is gonna come in here and—“

“_Well_,” Elise nudged Ahnn’s hand, ignoring Jamison. “Did you or did you not? If you did, did you feel like I told you you would feel?”

“Um, no,” Ahnn shook his head. He suddenly felt a little embarrassed that he hadn’t even given the idea any thought. He had heard the drug was being distributed around the party, but didn’t think to try it. Honestly, he mostly wanted to drink and lose a bit of sense. “Didn’t get a chance to. I got a little preoccupied for a second and never got around to it.”

He didn’t have any intentions to do so either, so he felt strange pretending that he was interested.

“Next time, then,” Elise decided. “Now that you’re finally eighteen we can actually have some fun without worrying about you getting caught. That reminds me, I forgot to tell you the best part of all of coming back home!”

“What is it?” Ahnn asked as he was suddenly whisked away by his arm. Elise wasted no time in dragging though the back warehouse emergency door that always beeped pathetically instead of screeching loudly like it was probably intended at some point. They didn’t walk far, just to the other side of the building, where the parking lot met the sunset. Amidst a sea of dull colored cars; deep blue, crimson red, and a several shade of gray Ford Fusions, there was a single car that stood out the most.

Bright yellow. An eye sore in the middle of a warm sunset, with the front bumper holding on by pure luck. The windows still covered in dirt.

Ahnn’s heart suddenly stopped as soon as he saw the dancing hula girl in the dashboard, glinting in the faint leftover light. Dangling above the rearview mirror was the Pae’s Restaurant logo card.

It was Mr. Pae’s car from last night. Sitting no more than five feet from Ahnn. If he step any closer he would’ve probably been able to catch the stench of Jackson’s vomit puddle in the passenger seat.

“You like it?” Elise beamed. “It’s still shit, cause, you know, it’s obviously old as fuck, but it’s all mine!”

How in the hell had this car ended up in her possession? Ahnn couldn’t grasp the concept of the very cruel reminder to suddenly present itself in his life once again. Like a big, nasty yellow splat of piss over his life. Was this suppose to be a good thing? Surely it had to be.

“How—Where did you get it?” was all he could say before Elise was able to infer something was up. “I mean, wow. Congrats, but how…who gave it to you?”

Elise was too elated to really pay much mind to Ahnn apprehension towards her momentous achievement. “It was a gift from my brother, Mickey. Well, his friend’s mom gifted it to him and then he gave it to me,” she explained, giving the dangling bumper a small kick. She then turned towards Ahnn, eyes suddenly hazy and expression curious as she reached underneath his shirt and pulled them closer towards the car. Her fingers were warm, voice low as she whispered in his ear, “Wanna make me feel less sad for a little while?”

-

_LENNON_

“I met a boy,” Lennon announced during breakfast. The dining hall was specially empty for a Monday morning, but it lately it had been like that. The end of the year parties were getting quite intense, it seemed. That or perhaps all of the fourth years were neck in deep in all of the end of the year course work. Either way, those two fucked you up through and through.

Mickey Soh was one of the very few students that were present, secluded into their group’s table off to the front corner of the room. His jet black hair was messily sitting over his tired eyes and, as always, he was having none of Lennon’s early morning romance talk.

Mickey put up a hand up and glared at Lennon. “No boy talk before eight.”

Lennon pouted. “Mick, he was hot as fuck.”

Mickey grimaced as he rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I’m not nearly as awake as I should be for this,” he mumbled. After a few seconds of scrubbing his eyes raw and looking back up at Lennon, he gave in. “What’s his name?”

Lennon’s eyes glinted with the memory of the night before. “James,” he answered, a bit too dreamily for, both, his liking as well as Mickey’s, but he couldn’t help it. Just thinking of the way James smelled—nothing sharp or with a piquant spice, but fresh and sweet—Lennon kept driving himself a little too lost into his own thoughts to notice his pining was getting out of control.

Mickey knew better than to try and push the subject aside and not entertain Lennon’s ramblings. For the longest time, they didn’t even considered themselves friends. They were just roommates that often time smoked weed together and talked about the shitty parts of school and life. Lennon slowly took note of the strange ways Mickey worked; he wasn’t forthcoming in what he wanted, just in what he didn’t want. And slowly, Mickey grew to like Lennon and enjoy his company, although he would never openly admit it.

It had only taken three years of constant nagging from Lennon, but at least they could both agree they were friends.

“His hair was blue,” Lennon added as he stirred his oatmeal around with his spoon.

“Ah, blue hair,” Mickey contemplated, pushing his untouched breakfast plate aside. “What a phase that was. Second year was such a monuments year for all of us, wasn’t it? I mean, you hair was red and you wore eyeliner.”

Lennon didn’t even think about that treacherous phase and simply shuddered. “No, his hair was a pretty blue. Like, natural blue. Not like the disgusting bleach job you had.”

“I looked fucking lovely, you ass.” That was one of the things Lennon liked most about Mickey. As soon as anybody every filed him off as a pessimistic, moody guy, he would use words like lovely and ass in the same sentence.

“You did, yes,” Lennon agreed easily and then leaned back on his chair. “But, man…_James_.”

“Yeah, yeah we get it. You met a pretty boy. You meet a pretty boy every week, it seems,” Mickey reminded him. “Did you even fuck him to justify your pining?”

He was obviously exaggerating seeing as how Lennon hadn’t even as much as held hands with anyone in months. “No…” Lennon drew out. “Would I be pining about his blue hair had I fucked him? No, I’d be doing cartwheels on this table while singing _Dangerous Woman_ at the top of my lungs.”

Their other roommate, Daniel Lee joined them not too long after Mickey put a complete stop in the boy talk and instead begged Lennon to talk about anything else, to which Lennon was more than ready to.

He was adamant about mentioning it at first, but he knew he needed to talk his frustrations out before they kept bottling up inside him for even longer. He went on to tell Mickey all about the car crash: about how his mother and Gary had to send an army of his security henchmen to go rescue him and Miles from the hellish depths of 3rd Street. In the span of one single miserable night, they had found themselves left stranded with a broken Fusion and an abandoned, ugly yellow Volvo that his mother had ended up giving away to Mickey, who in turn passed along the pile of trash to his sister.

Surprisingly, the accident had only been a added aggressor to Lennon’s behavior that night. According to his mother, he had been overly crass and disrespectful to Gary’s special night. She had, of course, caught a hearty dose of Lennon’s weed infested scent and well, the only end to that argument was not finalized without his mother assuring him he was going to be spending the remaining weekends stuck in his dorm room.

“Which, jokes on her cause I’ve got like two grams of coke stashed away in my room,” Lennon concluded bitterly.

Mickey scoffed. “Well, it’s a gram now,” he confessed shamelessly. “Hey, you decided to leave me this weekend, what was I suppose to do?”

“You asshole,” Lennon told him, but couldn’t bring himself to get upset. “The rest better be there when sixth period is over today.”

“We’ll see,” smirked Mickey, giving Lennon a cheeky wink.

“I’m gonna miss the breakfast here so much,” Daniel announced to them as he sat across from Lennon, right next to Mickey. He had a small frown on his lips, but it faded as soon as his eyes landed over the large serving of eggs and bacon before him. “By the way, did you guys go to that party in Downtown last night?” He asked with a mouth full of food. “I heard it was crazy—“

“First off, chew and then speak,” Mickey objected. He cleared his voice and then added, “And ew, no way. Someone told me that whenever you cross the downtown border, you’re immediately granted full time residency and herpes.”

Daniel swallowed hard. “But, my grandma lives downtown,” he informed them.

Mickey rolled his eyes at him. “Well, she has herpes then.”

“Mickey,” Lennon warned him.

“That’s so rude,” Daniel told him with no real bite to his voice. It was hard to get Daniel upset. Not when he was in his ultimate element; stuffing his mouth with food.

“Good talk,” Lennon interjected. He turned towards Mickey, who was lazily collecting his backpack and the notebook he didn’t even touch. “Have you talked to Stephen? I texted him last night, but he never got back to me.”

“He was at the party,” Daniel announced. He pointed his fork with a large chunk of egg at the end towards Mickey. “He was selling and making bank. The downtown kids love him, but, like, who wouldn’t? Steph’s dope as fuck.”

That wasn’t saying much coming from Daniel. He thought anything with a pulse was the coolest thing on earth.

“Course he was,” Mickey concurred,. “He was probably prying on a the school girls too, the fucking perv.”

“Boys, too,” Lennon said before he could help himself. “Sorry,” he quickly added, trying to avoid the sharp gaze Mickey was suddenly directing towards him.

“Whatever,” Mickey shrugged, probably a little too carelessly. “To answer your questions, I’ve no idea why he hasn’t answered and I don’t really care either. Besides, you know he can be busy. Text him again or something.”

Well, fuck. Lennon was only asking because he wanted to buy more weed. He didn’t know why Mickey was suddenly giving him so much attitude. “Okay. Yeah, I guess I could do that. You okay, man?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Mickey asked defensively. He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through his Instagram feed.

“Dunno. I was just asking,” Lennon told him. When Mickey didn’t say anything back, he assumed that part of the conversation was evidently over.

Daniel must’ve sensed the tension, or perhaps he was that delusional when it came to social cues, but he swiftly veered the conversation to burnt marshmallows and the end of the year graduation trip that the entire class was buzzing over.

When it because clear that no one else was going to contribute to that specific topic, he reverted back to how much he was going to miss the cafeteria food.

-

_JULIAN_

The problem was that there was too much light in Julian’s room.

The problem was that he could have waited until everyone was asleep.

Outside in the rest of the house, there was too much noise. Which, the more he thought about it, wasn’t a bad thing. He only really needed five minutes. That was all he was allowing himself to have, at least. At six o’clock in the evening, if he were to turn down the lights, it would spell out something suspicious.

The lights at the Pae household were always off at eight-thirty.

Julian didn’t want to wait. He wanted to get this over with.

He paced back and forth in his room, nearly tripping over his school bag as he held his phone tightly in his hand. His heart was racing and he could feel the panic starting to bubble in the bottom of his stomach, but he needed to just…look. He needed something to show him that maybe this was some sort of phase. Liking the touch of a boy.

Not liking.

Longing. Begging for it.

**A memory from earlier:** Jackson rubbing his shoulders during second period Spanish. The way his fingers were barely grazing the skin on the back of Julian’s neck. How his fingers slowly worked through his shoulders before gradually moving to his back. It was playful, every one of his movements. Julian knew this, but still couldn’t help but to feel as though the gesture was meant to be more intimate. 

Julian stopped at the foot of his bed and took a deep breath in. “Just…don’t be so stupid,” he whispered to himself. He reached over towards his bedroom window and made sure the curtain was pulled all the way across, omitting any more unnecessary light. Then, he sat in the corner of his bed, facing the side of his room with his door. His fingers were shaking as he unlocked his phone.

He could hear the faint sound of his mother yelling at his sisters over something that had been or hadn’t been done, which in turn ensued even more noise from his sisters, who were always too feisty for their own good.

All of those sounds, however, were quickly being drowned out by the thumping in his ears.

“Shit, okay,” he told himself, pushing his body way up against the corner of the bed. Crap. He could actually feel his legs trembling with nerves as he brought them up against his chest. He was actually going to do it.

He was going to watch porn.

As he clicked the play button, the screen in his phone gradually faded out to black and he could see his reflection; his large, wide eyes staring back at him.

He quickly paused the video to take yet another breather. “Oh my god, stop being weird about this,” he groaned into his hand. “It’s just a video. That’s it.”

He hated how guilty he was feeling, but there was something so disturbingly indulging about this whole ordeal that made his insides feel like they were slowly being churned. But, he needed to know. He needed to see what it could feel like. What it should feel like.

He unpaused the video and bit his bottom lip hard, willing himself to just look. He wasn’t doing anything bad. He was just looking.

Just looking.

The men came into frame. Both with a very large built; muscles tanned and gleaming against the studio lights. Behind them there were nothing but white walls and a wide, spacious bed. The music was slow, but that could’ve just been because Julian had lowered his phone’s volume to something barely audible.

The succession from shy gazes and small kisses on the cheek to rough, loud sex was lackadaisical. Mouths were glossy with spit and the large man out of the two was handling the other one quite violently by repeatedly slamming him into the bed and sticking his dick inside his mouth every time he spoke.

Okay. Julian didn’t know what to think of that.

He realized he had brought his other hand over his eyes, in the feeble attempt to make himself believe that he was being forced to watch the two men have intecourse. His fingertips trembled so bad as he brought them back down to his lap, and yet he still couldn’t look away. Instead, he tried to focus on the feeling beneath the video. In the small touches and heavy sounds and soft, pleadings murmurs.

“Fuck yeah,” one of the men shouted abruptly, letting out a loud, passionate moan.

Julian locked his phone and threw it to the other side of his bed. He was breathing hard, feeling the continuous pang of his heart being insistent on driving him up the wall. And that feeling in his stomach had suddenly stirred something entirely new in him. He felt it compressing against his chest, sending chills down his back.

“_Fuck yeah_.”

He could still hear that heavy moan. It was like it had been carved into the deepest depth of his brain, bringing him back to the same feeling over and over. It had only been seconds. Was that the feeling he was suppose to be overwhelmed with?

What the hell was he even feeling?

The sound of his phone buzzing a notification of a text message from Ahnn brought Julian back to reality and out of his head, but just barely. He didn’t even think he really saw the message and simply plugged his phone to charge for the rest of the night. His head was submerged in something he wasn’t allowing himself to determine just yet, he was only letting himself feel it.

All of it.

At five past eight, Julian hopped in the shower for the night and thought of small touches and hitched breaths and soft sounds.

It was going to be a long, restless night.

-

The next morning, Julian felt weird ever since he woke up.

Perhaps it had been the particular chilly night and how he had only thought to sleep with a thin T-shirt on, thinking he needed to cool off. He had tossed and turned, trying to clear his mind, but all he kept thinking about what that damn video. He kept getting lost in it no matter how hard he tried not to. Bitterly, he wished he hadn’t fallen prey to his curiosity and just wondered in silence whether he truly wanted to like guys or if he was just being a typical, horny teenager.  


Watching porn hadn’t brought him any closure. It had only brought him insight to something he was desperately puzzled by. He felt like a disgusting idiot.

“Your lip looks better,” his mother noticed during breakfast that morning. “I’m glad you’ve been using that ointment I got you.”

Julian wasn’t, so he was glad the remains of what he did last weekend we’re almost gone.  


“Momma, more milk,” Julian’s younger sister, Billie ordered. Her tiny arm was stretched out towards the direction of the fridge. “Milk, milk, milk!”  


Amanda tsked her chid. She tapped the little one’s stubborn hand down. “Rude girl, use your manners,” she ordered before turning to Julian. “Julian, can you get your sister some more milk, please? Also, can you also remind Ahnn that we need the car back? Maia is starting to stay late at school for her play and you will need to start picking her up.”

Right. The car. The one they had lost.

Or rather, abandoned.

Shit.

Julian has never been an expert at lying, because he never really had a reason to. He stuck to his lane for the most part and even when there were times where he would veer off course, he knew his limits. Now, he was we’ll past his limits, thousands of feet over, and he needed to back track repeatedly just to keep his head above water.  


**A small lie in the shape of a truth: **Ahnn lived in the outskirts of downtown, near the river beds and the strawberry fields. He didn’t grow up with money, so naturally he was always seen riding the city bus. It would seem appropriate that he would ask to borrow the car to drive his sisters to school. Right? Julian hadn’t ever thought of a lie so fast in his life.  


“I’ll see what he tells me,” Julian closed the fridge for gently, passing his sister the milk. “His sisters need doctor visits soon, so I think he might need it for a little bit longer.”

Amanda tapped Billie once more to keep her from overfilling her cup with milk. “I wished Ahnn would have asked me personally, he should know I would have worked something out with him. _You_ should have come to me first. What if I needed the car? The grocery trip is coming up, Julian. You need to think a little more before you do things sometimes.”  


Wasn’t that the truth of the hour.

“I’ll think more next time.”

“Well that just makes it sound like you’re stupid, and you’re not stupid, Julian.”

“I know. I’m just…agreeing,”

“Agreeing that you’re stupid?—Ugh, Billie no more milk!” Amanda chided the little girl, who just looked back at their mother defiantly.  


Julian sighed. It wasn’t even the beginning of his day and he was already mentally exhausted. “I’m just agreeing to be more considerate, that’s all,” he said.  


“It’s that girl, isn’t it? The one that nasty Jackson hit you over,” came the sly reply from Amanda, who failed at trying to be composed over the subject. She was openly probing and, truth be told, she probably didn’t care. “Girls can do that to you, son. Don’t lose sight of what important. Remember our talk: don’t let people bring you down. There’s hundreds of girls that you can marry after you become a well respected man.”

If Julian had felt weird before, he was feeling impossibly worse now.  


He simply nodded, playing with the hem of his T-shirt. “I will, Mom. I’ll see you at the restaurant after school.”

“Julian?”

He was so close to stepping foot out the door, but he knew his mother would give him grief if he pretended he hadn’t heard her. “Yes?”

“Take care of yourself, alright? I hate to think Jackson can just toss you around like that.”

This again. Julian was going to have to deal with this loose end, and very soon. He hadn’t even really spoken to Julian that much since last weekend. The courage to tell Jackson what he had constructed on whim never really came to him. For a minute, it had felt like it was going to phase itself out. Apparently not.  


Amanda watched him closely as he awkwardly walked to the living room to get his backpack. “Don’t forger to stop by the market and buy some extra Gochujang today. We’ve got our special guest coming to the restaurant today and we need to keep him happy!” She reminded him just as Julian shut the front door behind him.

Ahead of him, he looked forward to the walk to school. To the chilly winds and quiet sounds of the city of Tinsley slowly waking up. To the crunch of the earth beneath his sneakers.

The winds had picked up eventually, freezing his cheeks and fingertips, and for a moment, he just focused on the feeling.


	3. Chapter 3

_JACKSON_

Jackson Kim hated school, but that didn’t mean he was horrible at it.  


For the entire twelve years of his schooling careers he had managed to get on by with mediocre grades and a persistence heavy enough to push him to just get it all over it. He didn’t appreciate change and often times found himself anchoring with the notion of habits and everyday rituals. It’s not that he needed order to be able to function (most of his weekends were spent crammed into his messy bedroom, ignoring the mess and watching trashy TV with Julian and Ahnn), but it was simply the fact that he needed to have a purpose to do anything. The only reason anything got done in his household was because someone was always in the midst of completing something monumental: sewing a button, clearing out the garage, finally driving the donation boxes to the homeless shelter, or publishing a buzz-worthy article in the town’s newspaper.

**The latest accomplishment in the Kim Household:** Min-See Kim’s most recent article dethroning Tinsley’s king of politics: Gary Waterford. As a writer, he words moved buildings and rebuilt the entire city from the ground up. In her lengthy career, she crafted reputations with a single punch of viperous adjectives and held very little back. Her entire world revolved around black and white. She saw the decline of the day as the last sentence of a paragraph; the most important part of the conclusion. So, she always worked best during the night, when she knew she had lost light and her deadlines were approaching.

She was rarely was seen away from her laptop, which Jackson believed held an entire universe of mystery and secrets. She was observant and had a keen eye for noticing the small pauses in someone’s speech pattern; what it means, how long it was, and what assumption it lead to.

Waterford didn’t stand a chance.  
  


The new morning brought on a new array of words from his mother, who had suddenly been silenced by her sudden outpour of critical acclaim from the media. Jackson didn’t really know what to think about that, or how he should see if affecting her. Up until now, he always thought the only thing that ever made his mother’s words bold and brazen was opportunity and recognition.  


As always, however, there was something else awaiting on the next page.

Jackson dreaded how things had changed after party and the car crash. It had derailed his previous inclinations to be a little more carefree (if that was even possible during his last year of school), and suddenly he was faced with a blatant reminder that something awfully weird had shifted in his circle of friends.  


To begin, Ahnn was a little distant. It wasn’t like it was rare, because Ahnn was someone who loved to ravel in his downtime and, in more than one occasion, begged the other two to just leave him alone so he could read or listen to music in peace, if only for just an hour (that’s how long Jackson usually gave him before he texted him asking him to get online to play Zombies and Cowboys). Before, Jackson had taken the requests as a silly cry to just get away from the general bout of rowdiness their friendship had cultivated over so many years. Now, exactly a week post-car crash, there was something dim inside of Ahnn’s eyes and Jackson didn’t knew why that was.

And Julian.

Julian was just down right weird and transparent. Jackson always noticed the way Julian often mimicked the characteristics of Jackson’s mother; quiet, reserved and always lost deep in thought. It was always hard to read him, but it was never an issue because there was never anything to read over his features. Last week, Julian had become snappy and on edge, passing off little bursts of tantrums as stress from the oncoming finals, but finals weren’t for another three months. This was the most disorienting shift by far. Julian, although quiet, was always a little free spirited whenever he was around Jackson and Ahnn; they brought out the best of him and gave him the nerve he needed to bare to be more of himself. It wasn’t like Jackson could pry in a just ask what was going on with his friend because he knew it had to do with the crash and how Julian had acted moments before everything took a turn for the worse. Admittedly, Jackson didn’t know if he really wanted to know.

Meanwhile, Jackson remained intact with his order of life. He still woke up at the same time, still wore the same beaten up red sneakers, and ran exactly three miles from home to school every single day. At that point, he felt like he might have been missing something and was questioning whether he truly was missing something, but it was hard to look within himself for a missing part when he felt absolutely complete with his choices.

The thing about choices that he didn’t realize, was that they weren’t always his. This wasn’t new or rare. What was rare, however, was the way Jackson could decline at the expense of other’s choices.

That was something he still needed to work on.  


-  


The only subject in school that Jackson could not stand and wasn’t even near the mark of mediocre was Spanish. He was absolutely shit at it and didn’t hide it very well. His garbage grade last quarter was sole proof of that. So, it only made sense that the halt of his routine would occur during one of his worst classes.

“Attention students, this is Principal Watkins speaking,” the overhead announcements suddenly switched on, jolting a sleepy Jackson awake. “We interrupt your second period class to bring light in the recent events that took place over this past Monday. Tinsley P.D asks that students who come from the greater north vicinity of the Uptown border to please take an alternate route so as to prevent traffic jams or disrupt the ongoing investigations near the Riverbed Lake. Lindley Shay High School guards will be out at the end of school to re-direct any student pick ups and all of the bus routes have been adjusted accordingly. We thank you for your cooperation.”  


“Shit, that’s rough,” Jackson mumbled louder than he intended. The silence that had overtaken the classroom was suddenly so deafening, he could actually hear the girl next to him breathing. For a brief moment, he felt a rush of chills down his back. It could just be a coincidence, but his gut was telling him differently.  


“His name was Stephen Soh,” the guy seated in front of Jackson announced a few minutes later. He was reading an article in his phone.

The entire class turned their attention on him. Any small talk going on ceased. “Body found dead at the edge of the Riverbed. Five hours ago. They think he was killed. Your mother wrote the article, Jackson.”  


Of course she had. That was probably why she had been secluded so much in her study this past weekend. Her silence always grew whenever she had something stirring in her brain. She loved a good murder story, too.

“Hey, Peter, can I see?” Jackson asked, but then just leaning forward and taking the phone away from Peter himself.

He zoomed into the article, which was actually rather short, with the headline: ‘22 Year-old Man Found Dead By Riverbed’  


**In the words of Min-See Kim:  
**

“…Police department is currently in the midst of an ongoing investigation to rule out any possible implications that may lead to Soh’s death…Body was found face down into the edge of the river, his lower half still submerged in the water…His disappearance was reported this previous Thursday by Soh’s parents who had grown worried of their son’s sudden disappearance.”  


There were no photos of the actual person called Stephen Soh, but there were two photos taken of the actual scene. A combination of red and blue lights sporadic over the darkness of the woods. There wasn’t much to make out, no matter how Jackson believed he could see. He didn’t want to freak out over something that was still of uncertain, but he felt a pang of guilt smack right in the chest. They were there. When they had saved Julian. Ahnn had stood over the very top of the bridge and shoved the guy over the bridge while Jackson attempted to console a tearful Julian.

They had been there that night.  


“Jackson Kim,” Mr. Castro called out, irritated. “Please, behave yourself today. Put away your phone before it is confiscated.”

“Give it back already,” Peter hissed.

“Hey, I was reading something!” Jackson called out when Peter snatched his phone back. He attempted to get a hold of it once more, but it was to no avail. “Let me finish—“

_Splat!_   


Something hit the send of Jackson’s face, nearly scaring him out of his seat.  


As a cacophony of _Ooh’s_ echoed throughout the classroom, Jackson reached up to his face and felt something wet and soggy sticking to his face. In the background he could hear an uproar of laughter. When he scraped the mess out of his face, he looked behind him to follow the source of the poorly concealed laughter.

“Seriously, guys? _Respeto_, _por favor_! Jackson, please remain seated,” Mr. Castro ordered.

It had been a group of double seniors that had been picking on Jackson the entire year. They were leftover has-beens from the previous year that clearly had nothing better going for them. Evident by the stupid red Waterford 2020 hats they wearing, they weren’t just bored, but also obnoxious cretins. The tallest one sporting a sleazy sparse mustache had been mocking Jackson’s mother’s article during class yesterday. 

Sat in front of them was the new kid—James Choi, who was stifling a laugh and kept avoiding Jackson’s questioning glare. It had only been a few days since his addition to the class and the dude had mostly kept to himself so well, Jackson had almost forgotten he was still around if it hadn’t been for his vibrant blue hair.

“What the fuck was that for?” Jackson rebuked to the smiling shithead. He didn’t know why he was going off on him first, but he was going for it anyway.

“_Language_,” the teacher rebuked.

James’ eye widened and he lost a little of his smile, which had proceeded to turn into a defiant smirk as he addressed Jackson. “Why don’t you ask your friends that question?” The guys in the back roared in more laughter, their fists slamming against their desks.

“They’re not my friends, you idiot.”

“I didn’t ask and clearly, I don’t care,” James dismissed easily.

“Mr. Choi, do not engage. _Niños_, come on! I don’t want to have to punish anyone so let’s just all calm down—“

Jackson threw the soggy paper ball to the back of the classroom. A good chunk of it landed on the clique of morons, but a few bits managed to land on James.

James’ chair screeched on the floors as he rose from his seat, glaring daggers at Jackson. “Did you just throw that shit at me?”

“I thought maybe you’d want in on the joke too, since you think it’s so funny,” Jackson shrugged, feeling quite smug himself. He shifted his gaze on the cackling idiots, “And fuck you, you fucking dickheads!” he shouted at them.

“God, Jackie Chan. Sit down and shut up. Always gotta be the center of attention, don’t you?”  


That had come from Jamison, who was sitting at one of the front row seats looking back at Jackson with a snobby face. Jackson twisted his neck so fast to look at the blabbering kid, he felt a small pang is pain. The pain only made him more upset. “Fuck you, too!” he shouted back at Jamison.  


“_Jackson_!”

And that’s how Jackson had granted himself two straight weeks of detention cleaning pencil markings on library textbooks.  


-

Coach Breggins wasn’t very pleased to hear the news that his star player was trapped in detention when city finals were slowly creeping up.

The man was never fond of pleasantries, and truth be told, wasn’t very fond of Jackson either. As he has stated many times before, Jackson Kim was obnoxious, unnecessarily loud, and had the judgement of an mentally deranged sloth. But, the kid was also fast as hell and his technique was sharp and unwavering at every single game. So, he put up with him because he brought something big to the team. He didn’t say it often, but he compared Jackson’s spirit on the field as something golden and not very common around Tinsley.  


But when Jackson wasn’t with the team training or in a game, then he brought jackshit to the table. In that case, Coach Briggins really didn’t have the patience to withstand Jackson. And he wasn’t afraid to let it be known.  


“Get it together, Kim! I don’t want to have you sitting out on practice when the team needs you to be there. We have a game in three weeks. Do you think you’re gonna be much help if you sit out on practice for two of those three weeks because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut during class?” he had shouted at Jackson in the locker room, post the two week detention reveal. The rest of the team were all huddled at the exit, craning their necks to get a glance at Jackson’s terrified face.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’ll try get out of it,” Jackson offered, but he wasn’t sure he could even convince Mr. Castro to lay him off him just a warning. That teacher, too, wasn’t fond of Jackson and would most likely laugh at his face. At first it was funny that teachers weren’t so keen on him, but now it just felt like a vicious cycle.  


“He’s not going to let you get out of it,” Ahnn told him during lunch. They were in their usual lunch spot; out by the athletic fields. In a dingy, rusted metal table situated under several palm trees. The air blew towards them too much, but they usually scarfed down their lunch before it was ever really a problem.

“I can still ask. Cause, you know, _maybe_ he can pity me.”

Julian scoffed at that.  


“Care to comment, Jules?” Jackson questioned, getting ready to throw Julian a baby carrot.

Julian looked up from a physics book he had his nose buried in. His eyes were very tired, but looked otherwise alright. He scrunched up his nose up at Jackson. “Yeah, you probably shouldn’t have cussed out those double seniors.”

“I had to! They were assholes and they deserved it.”

Julian closed his book and reached over to boop Jackson’s nose. “Well, now you’re in a lot of _peligro.”_

_“_What the fuck does that mean?” Jackson asked, poking Julian’s nose back and tugging at a lose strand of hair over his eyes. “Don’t be Spanish to me, I’m warning you.”

Julian pulled back and laughed. He pulled out his phone like he always did and took a picture of Jackson, who just flipped him off. “That’s going in my Jackson Being Vile gallery,” Julian announced giddily. When he tried to take picture of Ahnn, he frowned. “Ahnn, smile,” he told him.

“Yeah, Ahnn, pull the stick out,” Jackson urged him as he aimed a baby carrot in Julian’s direction.

“Anyway,” Ahnn proceeded, stealing the baby carrot from Jackson’s grasp before he could throw it at Julian. “I found Mr. Pae’s car.”  


Jackson and Julian’s head snapped up in unison.

“You serious?” Jackson asked wearily. It had been nearly a week and a half since the had left the car to flee the scene of the crime. He hadn’t thought much about its whereabouts since they agreed it was gone.  


“Yeah. So, get this. You know Elise, right? The chick I work with at the supermarket?”

“Yeah, the one who fucks you when she’s bored,” Jackson nodded. Next to him, Julian chuckled.

Ahnn rolled his eyes. “Well, she has the car. The actual car we had. It even has the Pae’s Korean Food logo dangling over the rear view mirror.”

“How did she—“

“She got it from her brother, I guess,” Ahnn explained. “I don’t know how exactly but I’m guessing someone must’ve found the car in plain sight and kept it.”

“Maybe the police took it and sold it? Maybe it’s now property of the city of Tinsley and there’s a warrant for the arrest of the owner?” Jackson offered, mostly out of boredom cause he didn’t really care. “That’s cool, though. That’s a bridge we don’t have to cross. Oh, and speaking of bridges, did you guys hear the morning announcement?”  


“We’re gonna get it back, right?” Ahnn turned towards Julian, dismissing Jackson’s question. “I mean, it’s not exactly as sign, but maybe just some good luck? Above all, I think we’re just lucky those two guys didn’t try and find us and have are asses kicked.”  


“Please, I could take the smaller on any day of the week,” Jackson confirmed arrogantly. Sure, he had been kind of drunk that night but he had taken down the guy with the laziest kick of his life. “And no way, we don’t need to get it back. I’m kind of really over it, if you hadn’t noticed.”  


The only constant reminder that floated around the loss of the car was Ahnn’s and Julian’s sulking attitudes. Even then, Jackson wasn’t necessarily worried, just really annoyed and lost. Julian, on the other hand, didn’t agree with Jackson on just letting the problem fizzle itself out.  


“No, you guys need to get it back,” Julian argued. He had straightened his back and his gaze was suddenly sharp and direct as he looked over at Ahnn.

Ahnn gave the pink haired boy an indignant glare. He didn’t even have to say anything for Jackson to know what exactly he was thinking. “We need to get it back? As in me and Ahnn need to get it back or…as in all of us need to get it back?” Jackson suggested, feeling a little lost in translation because Julian was implying something, wasn’t he?

“You crashed the car. I think it should be you two who get it back,” Julian proposed. He must’ve felt their puzzled and insulted gazes because he went on to add, “I wasn’t the one driving…and as far as I can remember, I didn’t even want to take my car. I wanted to take the bus to the party, but Jackson said—“  


“I said I didn’t want to get my jeans wet because it was raining,” Jackson supplied. “It’s not a total lie, but…I mean, we were all there, weren’t we? Like as a group, so…”

“Yeah, but _I_ didn’t crash the car. And my mom is still asking about it—”

Ahnn, bless him, rose a hand in mid air quite near Julian’s face to silence him. “So…you’re telling me,” he let out a dry laugh, “You’re literally saying that we are the ones to blame for what happened? And don’t just give me a look and shrug like you’ve been doing all week. Just say it. Do you blame me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said something. Obviously you meant to say we’re the ones who ruined the night when that’s clearly not the case,” Ahnn miffed. His tone had darkened and he was now actually glaring at Julian, who’s face looked a little shaken from the sudden outpour of criticism.  


“I think we should save this conversation for a rainy day, huh?” Jackson tried to interject, but Julian was already on his feet collecting his belongings. “Julian, come on. He’s just kidding. You don’t have to leave.”  


“No, I ain’t kidding,” Ahnn shoved Jackson. He watched as Julian swung his backpack over his arm. “I’m really curious and looking for an answer.”  


“Whatever,” Julian huffed under his breath. Before anyone else could tell him anything else, he took off up the hill and into the 600 building courtyard. Probably on to get to fifth period early.

“Why do you do that?” Jackson asked Ahnn, sighing. “You know our boy is delicate.”

“Delicate? Okay, sure,” Ahnn dismissed with a over exaggerated eye roll. “He needs to own up to his shit like everyone else.”

“You’re still mad at him for that night,” Jackson pointed out.

“No, I’m not,” Ahnn clarified, pointedly. He was mindlessly began zipping his backpack over and over. “I’m just…I’m tired and I wanted to do some good by helping and he gives me that crap? He needs to take responsibility for what he did.”

“You’re still mad he slapped you, then.”

Ahnn went on to zip up the small pocket of his backpack rather harshly. “I’m mad he doesn’t realize the shit he puts me through. I just wanted to drink and have a good time and he goes off and does whatever he wants even though I clearly told him to stick to our side and not go off wandering, but no, obviously he always thinks he can do whatever he wants without any consequence. Look what he made me do! I was a fucking idiot looking for him and trying to save him like he was some sort of damsel in distress.”

“Ahnn, did you hear the morning announcements?” Jackson found himself asking in almost a whisper a few moments later. Around them the winds blew wildly, flicking his fringe right over his eyes. He felt shudders down his sides.

“I did,” Ahnn replied solemnly. “You should talk to your mother about that since she wrote the article. Get more information if you can.” That was all he said.

Jackson wanted to say that was a hard pass because he didn’t talk to his mother unless he really need it to, and vice versa, but he knew this wasn’t the time to say that. “I’ll try,” he said instead.

Ahnn’s eyes had turned a little red as he rolled his eyes again and refused to meet Jackson’s gaze. Jackson was glad because he didn’t actually know what the hell he was feeling himself. He wanted to agree with Ahnn about Julian, but he didn’t exactly know if he really did because he thought this issue had been talked over and forgotten. Ahnn had reasoned that Julian was just drunk and out of it, hadn’t he? Why was he suddenly so pressed on letting out frustrations that really weren’t entirely justified?

_Because they had just found out the guy who just died might have died because Ahnn had pushed him off a bridge._   


Jackson didn’t press the issue after that and instead proceeded to explain to Ahnn is precise plan of action to get out of detention. It involved a lot of begging, maybe a few tears, and lots of ass kissing. Ahnn entertained Jackson’s senseless persistence, but there was still something that was polluting his features; maybe a little bit of sadness or exhaustion, but he was at least trying to listen.

Ahnn always had his moments, like they all had, but he was always there for Jackson and Julian no matter how sour his mood was. He liked to whine about the responsibility no one had given him over his two friends, but deep down it was quite obvious he was always going to be there for them.  


“I’ll talk to Elise and maybe find out where she lives. Once I figure it out, I think we might be able to get the car back,” Ahnn disclosed wearily as they both walked to fifth period. “Can you tell Julian that, so that he can pull some strings together with his mom in the meantime?”  


Jackson nodded, although the wasn’t thrilled about becoming a repeated criminal, he had other issues more important to worry about. Such as detention and not getting dropped from the soccer team. So, he just nodded and kept quiet.  


-

_LENNON_

The restaurant fan above their heads was making most of the noise, aside from Daniel, who was loudly slurping on his noodles. Lennon tried not to be so disgusted with his friend, but it seemed like a recurring factor that Daniel Lee didn’t mind his manners when he ate because he ate like a starving feral animal. He hadn’t mind his manners for the past two years that Lennon had known him and it didn’t seem like he was about to start now.

“You should slow down before you swallow a chopstick,” Lennon warned him, trying not to let the disgust get to his face. The disgust didn’t last long, however, because Lennon was suddenly reminded of Mickey.

Daniel swallowed hard, sighing as he paused from scarfing down his meal. “You’re right. I need to pace myself, but I love this place. Food’s always bomb here,” he leaned back on his seat and stretched his arms wide in glee before his face fell into a frown. “Plus, I cant stop thinking about Mickey and food comforts me.”

It had been a day since either of them had a chance to see or even speak to their friend. Monday night a counselor had shown up at their dorm room and requested Mickey to follow him after gathering his a few of his belongings. A few hours later, Lennon had overheard the entire school buzzing with the news that Mickey’s brother, Stephen, had been found dead near the Riverbed Lake. It had been a very eventful Monday night to say the least. The news paper was having a blast dragging the Choi family through the mud and explicitly calling out the drug violence the death of Stephen Choi represented.

Lennon found it funny that they had overseen the very fact that Stephen was the number one distributor of drugs within the downtown district.  


Maybe it bode better to paint him under the light of a victim rather than the aggressor.

Lennon still hadn’t called or texted Mickey to ask how he was doing. And he felt shit about it. Which is why he had agreed to join Daniel in his weekend food endeavors. This was the third restaurant they’ve been into in the last three hours.

“You don’t even have to say anything, really. A quick text with an emoji should be enough,” Daniel suggested. He stole a piece of pork from Lennon’s dish. “I called him and he didn’t say anything anyways, just kinda went along with whatever I told him. My mom sent flowers to his family too. It’s the comforting thought that counts.”

“I’m not good at comforting, you know that,” Lennon reminded his friend.

Daniel smirked. “I don’t buy that,” he said, “that one time I got a sprained ankle really bad during soccer practice and was out for like three weeks? Who bought me ice cream and watched Grey’s Anatomy with me?”

“That was once and it was mostly out of pity and boredom,” Lennon defended. In any case, this felt different. Someone close to Mickey had died. What was Lennon suppose to say? He thought about saying that death was inevitable and this was just another consequence of life, but it seemed really heartless even to think about. Mickey might appreciate it because he had always been notoriously cynical but this was something Lennon really didn’t need to take a gamble on.  


“You cried during an episode with me,” Daniel brought up cheekily, pointing at Lennon with his chopsticks. “Don’t try and hide your fluffy side, dude. Not from me.”

”It was an episode about a dying kid! The doctors couldn’t save him and he just died. I’m not heartless. Besides, this is different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know what to do to make him feel better about this,” Lennon admitted quietly. He pushed his plate of food away and focused his gaze on the window next to them. “And I don’t want to be a shit friend if I don’t say anything, but what if he doesn’t need to hear anything?”

“Just think about it like this: You talk to Mickey about stuff that he doesn’t want to talk about it, so this can be kind of like that, right?”

“Uh no? I talk to him about weed and boys, I don’t think that can translate when it comes to someone’s death.”  


Daniel leaned back on his chair as he chewed, pensively. After a brief pause, he said. “Dunno, man. But if it were me, I’d at least want some form of consolation, you know? Even if it is just a a heart emoji text.”

A lady proceeded to approach them with what appeared to be a rather large order of Bulgogi and Tteokbokki, along with a hearty selection of sides. Her hair was a soft shade of pink and she was rather small. She held an unshakable smile over her kind features as she stood before the table. When Daniel looked up at her, his expression exploded with joy.

“Mrs. Pae!” Daniel shouted, quickly getting up from his chair and hugging the small woman, who giggled. “It’s so good to see you!”  


“Goodness, It’s good to see _you_,” she replied with happily. She reached out to cup Daniel’s cheek lovingly. “Handsome boy. How’s your mother doing?”  


Daniel grinned. “She’s good, living it up in Busan a the moment. She’s filming a new movie over there so she hasn’t had time to come down and visit in a few months.”

Mrs. Pae nudged Daniel to take his seat as she started dispensing the food all over their already crowded table. “Ah, I’m glad. Please do send her my best and wish her good luck. Oh, I’m sorry, who’s your friend here?”

”Mrs. Pae, this is my friend Lennon. We go to school together. Lennon, this is Mrs. Pae. She’s the owner of this amazing restaurant,” Daniel introduced Lennon as he jumped back into devouring the food on the table.  


Mrs. Pae turned her attention fully on Lennon. She proceeded to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder. A spark of recognition suddenly glinted over her watchful eyes. “Oh, wow. Yes, wonderful to meet you. I’m a big fan of your father,” she noted graciously. “We are big supporters of his Youth Conservancy initiative. He is truly embodying the perseverance this state needs to get back to its roots. He is a wonderful man.”

It was a shame Lennon was actually starting to like her because as soon as she finished her sentence he shrugged her hand away and corrected her. “He’s not my father, but thank you for the sentiment.”

“Okay, well, you are welcome…It’s a pleasure meeting you nonetheless,” Mrs. Pae nodded. Her smile had grown a little forced at this point. Her gaze swiftly returned to Daniel.

“Same here,” Lennon muttered as she watched Mrs. Pae and Daniel seamlessly jump into some sort of conversation about either eating food, the process of making food, or a film about food. At one point the both of them had switched over into speaking Korean so Lennon was truly at a loss.  


In the background, he noticed a boy around his age clearing out a table up in the front. He had a plain white T-shirt and pink hair just like Mrs. Pae, but perhaps a little darker than hers. He looked oddly familiar, but Lennon wasn’t sure in what way. The boy’s movement were kind of slow, but precise; kind of like those of someone deeply lost in thought.  


Lennon realized he was now staring at the boy, but couldn’t help but to keep his gaze locked on him.

Then a glass dropped.

The shatter of the glass echoed all throughout the restaurant, pulling Daniel and Mrs. Pae out of their conversation all at once. She chuckled lightly, a bit of embarrassment clouding her face. “Another day, another glass broken,” she joked, tapping Daniel lightly over his shoulder. “Do tell you mama to come and visit whenever she’s back in town. Tell her we miss her, yeah? And it was lovely to meet you, young man.”

With that, she walked up to the front of the restaurant to help the frazzled boy clean up all of the glass on the floor.

“So, you’re keeping it tight with the owner?” Lennon observed.

Daniel looked up from his meal and towards Lennon. His stuffy cheeks protruded out of his face. “Hell yeah,” he grumbled through a mouth full of food. Once he swallowed, he added, “She’s tight as fuck and loves it when I come to visit.”

Lennon wasn’t exactly surprised. Daniel could make friends with just about anyone because he had always been the kind of person to just go with the flow of things. The true testament to his benevolent character was his ability to have befriended Mickey, who at first truly and desperately hated Daniel with a passion bold enough to rival the sun. It was also an apparent fact that Mrs. Pae was a big fan of Daniel’s mother; Korea’s most celebrated actress, Joana Lee’s picture and signature was plastered in least three places around the room.

“Do you know who the kid over there is?” Lennon nodded towards the boy, who was now crouched to the ground, brushing some broken glass pieces into a dust pan. Next to him, Mrs. Pae appeared to be giving him a stern talking to.

“That’s Mrs. Pae’s son. He’s kinda quiet whenever I see him, but I think it’s mostly cause he’s just working,” Daniel licked his greasy lips before tilting his head in thought. “Come to think of it, I think he was also at that party last weekend. Remember the one I asked you and Mick about?”

Lennon raised an eyebrow. “What party?”

“The one downtown. The one that got crazy out of control? Cesar told me he saw Steph hooking up with him.”

“With who? The—_that_ guy over there?” Lennon shamelessly pointed across the room, towards Julian.

Daniel nodded. “Mhm. Crazy huh? I hope he wasn’t Steph’s boyfriend or anything cause if so, he probably hasn’t heard the news.”

That was…interesting bit of information. Lennon wasn’t sure how useful it was truly was, but he suddenly felt compelled to know more. He was hyper aware that he had indeed encountered this guy before, he just couldn’t place him quite yet. “What’s his name? Do you know it?” he asked Daniel.

“Hm. I don’t talk to him very much.”

“Okay. But, you’re saying you know him.”

“I do know him. But I don’t talk to him a lot, dude. He’s usually working, so I just mostly know him as the Pae boy. Why does it matter?”

Mrs. Pae walked past their table and was pointing towards the back kitchen. Then, along the string of words in her sentence, she uttered the name Julian.

Julian. Fucking Julian Pae. Of course. That name tied the last details together and it was suddenly as if it was nightfall again and Lennon was on the ground gasping for air as Julian fled away with his posse of friends. It really was him, wasn’t it? Lennon wanted to laugh at the coincidence, because as he was just presently reminded once again that Tinsley truly was a small city full of connecting plots and faces at every turn. In a matter of days, he had unintentionally brought himself within the proximity of some low life who had probably assumed the tide of danger had just waved right past him, free of consequence. 

“Excuse me? Can I get a refill?” Lennon tapped his empty glass of water against the table. He noticed how Julian’s shoulders perked up from behind. The boy gently settled the dust pan off to the side as he turned around to look at Lennon. Immediately, his expression grew a little flabbergasted as he nodded.

Did he even recognize Lennon?

Julian walked back to the counter to grab a pitcher of iced water and began to walk back towards Lennon’s and Daniel’s table. Quietly, he filled Lennon’s cup, saying nothing in the process. “That’s enough,” Lennon told him shortly. He tried to remain neutral, but there was no way this wasn’t the same person who had crashed into Miles’ car last weekend._  
_

“That was a weird power move,” Daniel commented quietly a little after Julian had taken off. “Gross, Lennon. Don’t be so mean.”

“I wanted water.”  


Daniel scoffed. “You could have stared him down or waved at him.”  


“I did. You saw didn’t you?”

Daniel narrowed his eyes back at him. “Be kind, Young.”

“I don’t care. I think he was in the group of guys who caused the car wreck. The least he can do is get me a glass of water.”  


Daniel’s eyes widened comically. “Shit. Are you sure?”  


Lennon thought briefly about it, but it was quickly building an ache on the back of his head. That damn night had been nothing but tribulation after tribulation. Without really trying to, he had validated his suspicions, so that’s where he was going to leave things at. “Yep. Same pink hair and everything, the fucking prick. But whatever, I’ll deal with it later when I care enough to.”

“Deal with it?” Daniel asked wearily. He has stuffed the last bit of food on his mouth sluggishly. He looked weirdly at peace; belly full and worry lines pressed over his forehead.

“Not yet at least,” Lennon declared. Their conversation died down as Julian returned from the back kitchen carrying a steaming tray of food towards a table. As Julian moved around the room, it was quite obvious he was trying to avoid Lennon’s vicinity. Even from a distance, Lennon could see a purplish bruise over the boy’s upper lip. Miles had really fucked him up pretty good.

“Please don’t do anything that’ll ban me from this place. I love it here too much,” Daniel warned him.

Before Lennon got a chance to say anything else, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He scrambled to take it out and froze as soon as he saw the called ID. It was Mickey.

“We need to go,” Lennon told Daniel.

-

_JACKSON_   


It had taken Jackson one day to get out of detention.

It wasn’t until sixth period Language Arts that Jackson has decided he didn’t want to go home for the day. So far, in a span of a day, he had earned himself two hefty fines. One against his judgment and the other one against his obstinate ego. He wanted to let the tension roll off his shoulders, but the present reminder of a call home kept kneading a painful twist in the back of his neck.  


He had miraculously convinced Mr. Castro to lay him off with only a warning and no detention. It hadn’t been due much to Jackson’s persuasion, but to his incredible gift to wear down a person by just talking to them endlessly. Mr. Castro, who probably liked him even less at that point, had given in about the thirty minute mark of their conversation and told Jackson to please shut up and get away from him.

To avoid Jackson for the rest of the semester, the teacher had only one request. He wanted Jackson to learn discipline by adhering to repetition and responsibility. So, he requested a written confirmation and warned about a phone call home. He wasted little breath telling Jackson it was largely overdue because his behavior was simply abysmal. Jackson wanted to punch him and tell him his breath was probably more abysmal.  


“I want this written down one-thousand times. No spaces and in cursive,” Mr. Castro had requested passing Jackson a piece of paper with only one sentence written on it. His large mustached shifted as he spoke, miffed. “You will have this done by the end of tomorrow or else I’m submitting the detention slip to the Administration’s office. I will be calling your home at around three. Will your father be home?”  


Jackson’s shoulders had sunken in and his expression had turned crestfallen. “Yeah,” he replied dryly. “He will be.”

His father wasn’t something that Jackson needed to think about, because with any sort of light that shined upon Robert Kim’s persona, something harsh and vile was reflected right back. His voice rumbled with amber vibrations; honey-eyed at first, but there was always something seething underneath his tongue. A phone call from one of Jackson’s teacher was going to stir something new in him. So, Jackson preferred not to be around to witness the inception of his acrimony.

Ahnn was always stuck at work, it seemed, so Jackson only really had one choice.

”I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Julian told Jackson awkwardly. They were standing right by Julian’s locker, which was located just outside the gymnasium entrance. Several bulks of athletes were running in and out, groups of about seven or more kids cracking jokes and mindlessly bumping into Julian.

Jackson groaned. “Why not? Is it because of what happened with Ahnn yesterday? He’s the one who said those things, not me. Don’t be mad at me.”

Julian bit his bottom lip pensively as he clumsily collected book after book from his locker. “No, it’s not about that. I just have a lot of work to do. And it’s my turn to stay in and watch Billie while Maia helps out my mom with the restaurant—“  


“I can help! Billie loves me and I promise not to rile her up or anything.”

“Yeah, but she’s cranky at night, so it’s best if I just handled her…”

“Julian,” Jackson whined, pulling tightly on Julian’s sleeve. “Please, I just wanna hang out and…I could use some help with my algebra homework and you’re the only one who understands that crap. _Please._”

As Julian opened his mouth to speak, he dropped his books to the ground. A huddle of cross country girls ran past in a hurry, stepping all over the books. Julian looked down at the books for what felt like a lifetime. “I’m sorry, I just…um, I need to study and—“  


“I can do that, too. While I’m there. I won’t even bug you, I promise,” Jackson leaned down and picked up his books. Dusting them off with the bottom hem of his shirt. “And I’ll take as many selfies with you as you want. We’ll do whatever you want. Anything.”  


“What did you just say?”

Jackson blinked. He cleared his throat, confused. “Uh…we’ll do anything you want?”

Again, there was a blank expression that took over Julian’s face. His fazed was fixated on Jackson holding his books. After a minute, he furiously shook his head and snatched the books from Jackson’s grasp. “I said no, Jackson. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Are you serious?”

Julian looked up at him. He hugged his books tightly against his chest as his head made a small nod. “I’m sorry, I really am, but I can’t tonight. Maybe this weekend? I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Well, that stung. Jackson was obviously flabbergasted because this was an unusual position to be in. He and Julian has always been close and their friendship rarely stood many unpleasant disruptions because they got on so well, so this was unexpected. “Okay, that’s fine. I guess I’ll just see you tomorrow then,” he had bid Julian before taking off. He tried his best not to sound so disappointed, but it was hard not to be.

By the time he had reached the bus stop, Jackson had developed a bit of acrimony himself. What the hell was wrong with Julian? What bug had crawled up so far up his ass and made him act so damn reclusive and weird? Jackson felt so stupid for even begging. He shouldn’t even have to beg, Julian should’ve just accepted him without rebuttal.

He took a breath in as he boarded the bus. He didn’t want to run home today because it just felt like a fleeting joy he wasn’t going to enjoy as much as he should, so he just sat at the back of the bus and miserably looked out the window. Home was only twenty minutes away and the smell of amber and warm cherry wine wasn’t too far from him. Mr. Castro was probably already on the phone talking to his father.

It was going to be a long night. Just long enough to be yelled and and get a head start writing _‘No voy a decir grocerias en clase’_ one-thousand times.


	4. Chapter 4

_LENNON_   


The first time Mickey had met Lennon they were fourteen and forced to room together despite Mickey’s efforts to obtain a single dormitory at Princeton Academy.

Back then, Mickey had been shorter than Lennon and his cheeks were still clinging to some left over baby weight and his hair was bleach blonde. Right as he stepped foot in what would later be their dormitory for the proceeding three years, he took one look around and his face had dropped into a full on frown. Right from the start, Mickey never hid his emotions well. He hated to be halted in whatever it was that he wanted, almost to the point that it blinded him. He was careless and held no regard for others. Which is why, after he had surveilled the room and proceeded to stare down Lennon, he knitted his eyebrows together and bluntly announced that he did not like Lennon.

It had taken him thirty seconds to come to that conclusion.

Lennon stood at the edge of his bed, feeling a bit ashamed for himself under such heavy scrutiny. His jaw clenched and he didn’t allow his expression to change, however. In retrospect, and considering he wasn’t there by choice, he literally didn’t give a rat’s ass if this rich boy liked him or not. And he wasn’t afraid to tell him. “Well, fuck you, too,” he told Mickey. “Just stay out of my way and we won’t have a problem.”

“You seem weak,” Mickey had blurted out. There was no real bite to his words. If anyone else had spoken those words, they might have been fleeting. But, this wasn’t just anybody, Lennon thought. This was someone who held himself as someone who perceived others exactly as they were, someone who knew how to hurt others using only words. How the hell does a fourteen year old do that? And who the fuck did he think he was in the first place? Showing up with his luggage in tow and saying shit like that.

There was a lot of back and forth from the Admissions office that first week. Mickey was persistent and demanded to be roomed elsewhere, citing that Lennon had some weird energy about him. It was disorienting dealing with Mickey’s shit at first because Lennon was already experiencing a massive shift in his own world.

He was rooting there now—he had to after being torn away from the only place he had known for fourteen years. He was now in a bedroom the size of his old home with a god damn bathroom and private balcony and food delivery service and blooming flowers at every corner of the school grounds. He had another roommate too. A kind -faced soccer player that ate too much and seemed way too blissfully oblivious to resentment polluting in their own room.

It had taken three months to get used to the routine.

Mickey was always distant and oddly in control of every aspect of his side of the room; clean linen bedsheets, uncluttered desk, and a massive bookcase housing dozens of titles alphabetized and by color. He was often grouchy and muttered a lot under his breath whenever he was on his phone or typing on his laptop. Daniel would often ask what was wrong, but he never got a reply. Lennon just ignored Mickey. Of course, back then Mickey didn’t talk a lot about his home life (about the drugs and the sickness and the money that had ruined the Sohs). None of them really did, because in the bigger picture, it didn’t matter.

The first words that Michael Soh spoke to Lennon after nearly seven months of being roommates were: “Do you want to smoke some weed with me?”

The invitation might have presented itself after one of Lennon’s mental outbursts, which were more common back then, when he didn’t know how to deal with the shit his brother would tell him or the way his mother had slowly began to dismiss him more and more. Lennon wanted to believe it wasn’t pity that brought Mickey around, but if it was, it was hidden very well behind a thick coat of peevishness and indifference.

They got along with serene silence after that, never saying too much as they smoked out in the balcony because Daniel hated the smell of weed. Of course, Lennon had always let himself unravel in the presence of others easily, especially when he smoked, or drank, or felt especially sad for no particular reason, so he mostly talked and Mickey listened. Neither of them would admit it (especially Mickey, who even now still hesitated to grant Lennon the title of his best friend), but they started gravitating towards each other whenever their lives were a little too messy or full of walking chaos.

On a very bad night towards the end of their first year, when Lennon was experiencing his first heartbreak from his hetero phase, Mickey allowed him to bum weed off of him for the sixth time in a row and patted the end of Lennon’s leg in a comforting manner. “You know why I didn’t like you when we first met?” he said to Lennon.

Lennon sniffed, hiccuping on a sob. “Why?”

Mickey leaned back against the wall and looked up at the stars stretched over the sky. He seemed so at ease, allowing himself the pleasure of enjoying the quiet night with summer break just around the corner. “Because you remind me of myself.”

-

The first words that Mickey spoke to Lennon after Stephen’s death were “I need your help.”

Lennon stared back at his friend, bewildered and unable to take another step into Mickey’s house. At his sides, he felt his arms still tingling with the sensation of Mickey’s arms around him. They had been around him, hadn’t they? Or had he just imagined that Mickey—Michael Soh—had just willingly hugged him. What in the fuck—

Mickey pulled Lennon into the house and slammed the front door shut, the loud bang echoed all throughout the empty house. He led the both of them through the long corridor that led to the guest bedrooms on the first floor. Even after being here many times, Lennon still found himself getting lost in the Soh household. The walls had always been white and very rarely decorated with anything, much less family portraits or anything that could imply a kinship had been built here. The only photo Lennon had ever seen of the Sohs was in the living room, right above the fireplace (no smiles and of course, with Mickey missing). Although it wasn’t often that Lennon was over, he felt like there was something dirty hiding beneath the white walls and expensive furniture, but he always kept that thought to himself.

They must have passed three doors when Mickey finally entered the last door to their right. As soon as they came into the room, they were welcomed with an evening light that felt oddly cold and artificial. Lennon stepped in slowly, feeling very out of place and still wondering why Mickey had hugged him.

“Mickey, what’s going on?” Lennon asked in a quiet voice as he watched his friend pace the room. Surrounding them were nothing but dusty boxes, many of which were stacked high off to the right side of the room with what appeared to be some childhood blanket draped over them. As Mickey moved, the dust particles clung to the air and were illustrated by the light. “You called and I thought—“

“What did you think?” Mickey asked, voice suddenly tense as he stopped pacing around the room. His eyes were red, but it didn’t appear as though he had been crying. He just looked sleep deprived, like he hadn’t slept at all during the past few days. “Never mind, don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter. Did you leave Daniel back at the school?”

“He wanted to come with, but…Yeah, I told him I wanted to talk to you first because you sounded upset,” Lennon told him, taking careful steps towards him. “What’s going on, dude? You look like you’ve seen better days.”

Mickey’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. “You really think so?” he asked after a few seconds of silence. He walked right into the dying light, his hair illuminated with waxy yellows. Lennon began noticing the way Mickey’s fingers kept twitching, even as he tried to hide his hands in the sleeves of his black sweater. “You really think I’ve seen better days?”

“Um. I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant—“

“No, you think I should be handling this better, right? Stephen dying. Do you really think I should be handling this better?” God, his eyes were really red. His face was in distress. There was something twisting his features into this frail look of despair. But he didn’t seem sad. Lennon had seen Mickey sad before. This wasn’t it.

Mickey was afraid.

Lennon stared back at Mickey and felt himself grow a little smaller under his miffed gaze. “I…I don’t what to say. I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry, but you’re worrying me. What are we doing in this room? And why didn’t you want Daniel to come visit?”

Mickey looked away and walked over to the only window in the room and pushed the window open. A gust of wind flowed straight into the room. The smell of the strawberry fields swept right in followed by the soft hum of the city of Tinsley folding in for the day. “I was glad he died,” Mickey whispered softly. “When they told me. Well, no. My mom…she was the one who told me first when I was brought home from school. She was a fucking mess and…as soon she she said those words—because I knew she was going to say them—I felt a gush of relief.”

Lennon didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find anything to say. He just watched as his best friend wore the aftermath of death right over his shoulders, with a shitty posture and disheveled appearance. He felt his own chest constrict with sympathy that he didn’t know how to translate into comfort or compassion. What was he suppose to tell him? That it was okay to feel good about his own brother dying when it really wasn’t? If Lennon woke up tomorrow to hear Miles had died, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. The thought of his own brother dying terrified him so much, he never allowed himself to imagine a life where he lived and Miles didn’t, despite their estranged relationship.

“Mick, we can go to my house, if you want,” Lennon offered a little belatedly. “Or I can see if Miles can pick us up and drop us off somewhere else. We can go anywhere else, you don’t have to be here. We can even go back to the school. I’m sure Daniel really wants to see you and…I’m really shit at this, so I think that may be the best option for us.”

Mickey scoffed and turned around to face Lennon, leaning his weight against the window pane. “I can’t go anywhere. I don’t…I shouldn’t,” he explained running a harsh hand over his face. He took a deep breath in and exhaled shakily. “I need your help.”

“Okay. Yeah, I can help. What do you need?”

Mickey avoided Lennon’s worried stare. He looked to the ground as he spoke. “I…I hate to ask. I don’t want to. I really don’t, you know me. I don’t ask for favors—I mean, I feel like a fucking pansy just letting you see me like this, but,” he paused for a brief second before wrapping his arms around his middle. “I really don’t know what to do—“

“Alright, cut the shit. What is it that you need?” Lennon cut in aggressively. He walked right up to Mickey and demanded he looked at him in the eye. “What the fuck is wrong? Did you get in a fight with your family? Did they kick you out or something?”

Mickey shoved his out of the way as he distanced himself away from Lennon. “Don’t crowd me. You know I fucking hate that,” he snarled as he stepped to the right corner of the room housing the most dusty cardboard boxes. “I’m in deep shit and I don’t know what to do. That’s…_fuck_, I’m in really deep shit.”

Before Lennon could snap at him again and demand what he was on about, Mickey pulled the large blanket that revealed several stacked up boxes underneath. Wordlessly, he began tossing some of the boxes aside to get to a largest box residing at the very bottom. He tore the box open carefully, pulling the duct tape slowly to reveal the opening. The boy’s arms trembled as he held the flaps open and nodded for Lennon to get close.

Lennon took tentative steps closer.

Then, he saw it.

He wished he hadn’t because there was something very tormenting about the way several blocks of cocaine stuffed at the bottom of a cardboard box painted the perfect picture of utter calamity.

Mickey was in deep shit alright.

Lennon simply stared at it for several minutes. He thought of two things. The first one being that this obviously held Stephen Sohs legacy all over it because Mickey didn’t sell. Stephen’s operations were exclusively led by himself and a few other guys downtown, and even before that, when Stephen was younger and so full of greed and dejection only success and money could camouflage, his purpose was tyrannized by their father.

The second thought that popped into Lennon’s head was how much he wanted to reach in and stick a finger into one of the blocks and rub some coke over his gums.

“They got in contact with me and said that Steph still had debts he needed to pay,” Mickey explained a while later, when they had slowly concealed the box again. As he spoke, his voice was suddenly so soft and defeated. “I don’t even know how they got my number, but they did, and they told me that they wanted to money that was owed to them. That they tried reaching my father, but apparently he had fled the state or that he might’ve went undercover to avoid the…I don’t fucking know, really. The point is, the fucker isn’t here and neither is Stephen and now they want their money and I don’t know what to do, Lennon. I’m really scared.”

“How much is it worth,” Lennon asked him, tapping the pile of boxes to their side.

“Ten-thousand,” he muttered.

Lennon groaned. “Mickey, what the fuck?! They can’t—they can’t just ask that and expect you to have it. They have to know you weren’t even involved in these whole mess.”

“You don’t think I told them that? I told them I didn’t have a part in whatever Steph or my dad dealt. They don’t give a shit. They just want the money.”

“Just…give them back!—All of the drugs,” Lennon shouted, wincing as his voice rose a little too loudly. Mickey glared at him reproachingly. He whispered harshly at his friend. “You’re going to Quinnston State in the fall! The last thing you need in your life is to deal with this stupid bullshit. You’re going to return all of this and forget any of those goons even talked to you—“

“They don’t want the drugs, they want the money. I tried to tell them I can just let them have it, but they just gave me a warning and said I needed to come up with the money.”

“And you don’t have the money?” It was a stupid questions, but Lennon had to ask.

“Oh, yeah, let me just check my ass to see if perhaps by any chance I have ten fucking grand shoved up there—Or better yet, shall I just finally break my piggy bank? Seriously, Lennon? How the fuck do you think I’m going to have—“

“I don’t know! Maybe you can ask your mom for a loan?”

“A loan for what?! Huh? What am I going to tell her I need it for? In case you haven’t noticed my family was built and up to this day still operates on whatever the fuck my dad left us from when he was still selling.”

“Fuck,” Lennon breathed out, winded and feeling like his heart was suddenly beating too loudly in his chest. He felt the heavy waft of the evening winds curls around his body. “Well, what’s the warning? Maybe we can reason with them if we know the severity of what they’re trying to leverage with you.”

Mickey stiffened. “I”m not gonna tell you.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Yes.”

Lennon pinched the bridge of his nose. There was a headache already building. “You need to tell me so I know how bad it really is,” he told Mickey.

“What? So if they just smack me around because I don’t come up with ten-thousand but the end of June, are we just going to approach this mess more calmly?”

Lennon struggled not to grab Mickey by the shoulders and smack him around himself. “I need you to be honest with me, you idiot. So, what…what do we do?”

He didn’t know why he was asking Mickey that because it was glaringly obvious that Mickey didn’t have the answer. If he did, he wouldn’t have called Lennon up and dragged him into this small room full of so much fucking dust and cocaine. Mickey only remained silent as he walked over and leaned over the window pane again. He didn’t have an answer either, but the fear still lingered over his tired features. As Lennon watched him, he quickly realized that Mickey was never built for this kind of ache, and yet here he was caught again amidst a cataclysm he didn’t create.

“I can’t believe I told you that,” Mickey admitted as the sun finally set behind him. The light was now burning red over the Tinsley skylines. “That I was glad Stephen died. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“It’s okay,” Lennon assured him, but he found his tone was far too even to be perceived as supportive. Why couldn’t he just offer his sympathy adequately? Even if he had to force himself to lie, it would be far better than just sounding like someone who was bothered, instead of someone who was worried as hell for someone they cared a lot about.

Lennon walked over and stood by Mickey, budging their shoulders together. “I’m gonna help,” he told him quietly. “We’re gonna come up with the money. Even if I have to sell every stupid ass thing I have in my room and even back at the dorm. And, If I have to, I’ll even ask my mom or something, I don’t know, but we’re gonna come up with the money, Mick. I promise.”

Mickey rolled his yes. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” he said. He licked his lips and sighed heavily. “But, thank you anyway. If anything, it’s a start. Who knew I’d be doing exactly what my father wanted me to do all along, huh?”

Lennon hummed in response. His gaze wandered around the room. On the white walls, now shaded a dimmed blue color of nightfall, on the boxes haphazardly stacked up and resting under the thin veiled protection of a flimsy Looney Tunes blanket and the hope that this was something they could really pull off soon and laugh about later.

“Hey, Mickey?”

Mickey looked up at Lennon. “Yeah?”

Lennon bit his lip, his gazes now fixated on the boxes. “Can I take a bump of the coke?”

“Fuck it,” Mickey breathed out as he stepped back towards the boxes and began making his way down to the very last one once more. “But that’s all you get unless you wanna start paying,” he warned, to which Lennon really couldn’t really decipher whether he was joking or not.

-

_JULIAN_

Julian jolted awake, chest heaving and something warm stirring in his middle.

A dream. It had been just a dream.  


Or maybe just a revelation, Julian began to wonder as he sat up on his bed. Perhaps, it was just an insight as to what awaited Julian on the other page should he allow his natural instincts to takeover. He didn’t need to linger on the reasons or justifications any longer. He didn’t need to know of where he was or what he wanted to do because he had felt it in every inch of his body in that dream.  


**Briefly, A Dream:** He kept his arms clasped around the body before him. This wasn’t real, but it felt like it was because the skin was so warm underneath his fingertips. Julian’s breathing was soft, but he felt like his chest was going to explode with how much of his heart he was feeling. Jackson was pliant under his touch, the bare skin on his back so smooth and inviting; his legs straddling Julian’s waist. They’re gazes were locked; an unwavering, hungry—

“_No_,” Julian groaned, dropping his face in his hands. The disgust and embarrassment were quick to filer throughout his entire being. He didn’t even try to wave it away, he knew there was no coming back from the realization that he just had a wet dream about Jackson Kim.

Jackson. _God_. He wasn’t even within Julian’s radar of attraction. He shouldn’t even be near it in the first place because Julian didn’t like guys like that—or maybe he did, but that didn’t mean that he could just think of Jackson like that. Thinking about someone that Julian had known for over half of his life just felt wrong. So, why had Julian’s mind constructed such a compromising scene?

Was Jackson riding him? In his dream? Julian groaned again, shaking his head and letting his body flop back onto the mattress. It must have been all of the porn he had been watching. It had to be. Perhaps binging twenty-five videos in the span of two nights might have its effects. But then again—

It had to be the guilt. That was the only logical reason any of this would have unraveled in Julian’s mind. He was guilty for turning Jackson away without so much as spare thought towards his needy friend (and Julian knew Jackson was always needy when he was trying to avoid something or someone). They were always readily there for each other, it’s how it’s always been. But, Julian had still turned him away.

_“We can do anything you want. Anything.”_

**A memory:** Julian’s eyelids were heavy over his own eyes, he could hardly keep them open as he walked around the large crowd of teenagers. Everyone was already sectioned off with small cliques. There were forced smiles and loud laughter barely filtering through the distance as the sound of a shitty rap sing drowned out the whole room. Julian glanced to his right and noticed Jackson corned off on the side of the room with some girl pressed up against him as they made out. Who the hell knew where Ahnn was because as soon as Julian even spared his friend a thought he suddenly crashed into another body.

Someone taller, with soft hands that were suddenly trailing around Julian’s sides. Lovely things were whispered in his ears as the time passed and Julian didn’t move away from the person. What was his name? Julian hasn’t even bothered to ask as he leaned over the kitchen counter a snorted a clean white line of cocaine. It might have been a second or perhaps minutes or hours later, but Julian was outside, shivering under the icy cold. His mind couldn’t keep up with the hazy movements and he kept laughing at things that he was hearing. “You’re so fucking beautiful, did you know? Can’t believe I’m talking to you,” the guy told him. He kept pressing kisses on Julian’s neck and he couldn’t keep his hands away from Julian. And Julian found that he wanted to be touched, he kept arching his back for more. And then, he heard the words, so low and sweet and warm, “We can do anything you want. Anything.”

_Stop_. Julian felt a shudder down his spine. Stop thinking about it, he told himself harshly. It had been almost two weeks since that had happened. He didn’t need the reminders. He needed to stop thinking so much and hoping that something had changed in him.

Nothing needed to change. He needed to keep telling himself that because everything that he was doing—all the porn videos, the wet dreams, the dread that came with his need to kiss someone, to feel like that again, was starting to scare him.

He didn’t want to be afraid of what wished had happened that night. Every time he wondered, or even unravel a scenario where he was still there, wandering around the bridge, mind hazy and with glossy eyes—He felt his heart skip and beat and he felt so scared scared and overwhelmed and ashamed.

Julian quickly got himself out of bed, feeling a sharp chill from his sweat soaked T-shirt clinging to his chest. He glanced briefly at his phone for the time, which read 12:45am, then he glanced down at his pajama bottom, and noticed he was half hard.

Shit.

Julian continued glancing down at it and anguish began to liter his expression. He could feel a heat spreading through his flushed cheeks. He bit his lip hard, thinking of what to do. But, there was only one thing he could really do.

He walked over to his bathroom and flipped the lights on, feeling grateful as hell for having been granted his own bathroom last year when Maia decided she wanted to sleep in the attic. Come to think of it, Julian imagined the attic would be a better room, all things considered.

The ceiling lights were blinking, barely functioning for the last few weeks, but Julian didn’t need much light to do what he needed to do.

Christ, he couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror.

As he pulled his fingers through the waistband of his pajamas, he froze. A sound coming from his bed caught his attention. It was his phone going off. He cursed under his breath and shut the bathroom door closed. He turned his body so he could stand just before the sink counter and leaned one arm against the cold marble. He keep his gaze low for a few seconds before closing his eyes and pulling his bottoms to pool down at his ankles.  


It didn’t take him long to finish, really.

When he came, he thought of Jackson on top of him again.

-

_Jackson:_ u up? 12:51am

_Jackson:_ julessssss 12:52am  


_Jackson:_ juliaaaaaaaaa 12:55am

_Jackson:_ julianN - sorry didn’t mean to call u julia lmao 12:55am  


_Julian:_ everything ok? sorry just woke up 1:15am

_Jackson:_ can’t sleep and no one is online so ican’t play z+c 1:16am

_Julian:_ count sheep haha 1:16am

_Jackson:_ tried it n it doesn’t work. i even tried to listen to ahnns depression playlist on spotify?? sadness makes people sleepy right? 1:18am

_Julian_: if ahnn heard u say that he would strangle u to death 1:19am  


_Jackson_: at last! sweet eternal rest!! 1:19am

_Julian_: can I call you? 1:23am

_Jackson:_ What for? It’s late 1:23am

Julian held his phone is his hand and wondered that himself. He didn’t know why he needed to suddenly speak to Jackson, but his body was suddenly aching to react to the bubbling anxiety twisting and turning in his nerves. The guilt was somehow risen to the surface. Perhaps that’s where he wanted to start. He wanted to hear Jackson’s voice and he wanted to act on a headstrong urge to clear the air.

He just needed to apologize and come clean.  


He needed to tell Jackson he was sorry for turning him away and blaming him for getting hurt during the car crash.

Why did Julian even lie in the first place? Now, his mother could hardly hear Jackson’s name without hissing on instinct. Julian should have just told her he had fallen and busted his lip open, gotten bullied, anything. Literally anything else.  


He tossed his body to its side so he would be facing the wall and he feel a flush of nerves explode over his chest when Jackson simply replied ‘_fine. u can call meeeeee_.’ He didn’t allow himself to think and just pressed the call button and held the phone up to his ear.  


Jackson’s voice was low, almost to a whisper, “Yooooo.”

“Hi,” Julian breathed out. He could feel his fingers getting clammy as he held his phone. “I know it’s late—“  


“No, shit. It’s almost…1:30am,” Jackson chuckled. There was a bit of ruffling through the line. Although distant, Julian could hear a faint growl of a voice in the background. “Er, well, what did you want? Is this the part where we talk about our feelings and share our deepest thoughts with each other?”

Mindlessly, Julian shook his head. “That happened once and we were sworn never to speak of it cause Ahnn will chop off our dicks.”

Jackson snorted. “You said dicks.”  


“Hey, those were Ahnn’s words not mine.”

“Well, he’s the one that cried, so. I guess it’s his tears, his rules? Is that how it goes?”

It had almost been three years ago when that had happened. None of them have truly experienced loss before, so when Ahnn lost his mother, he was dragged into an unfamiliar state no one knew how to handle. Jackson cracked inappropriate jokes constantly and Julian mostly talked Ahnn through things that mattered and didn’t matter when it came to death.

Julian remembered that summer very well now. It was the summer he actually felt like he and Jackson grew closer as friends.

“I think that’s how it goes,” Julian agreed easily. “Um. I wanted to apologize for today. I was mean when I shouldn’t have been—“

“Oh, so we are talking about our feelings then,” Jackson cut in, sounding amused. In the background, there was more harsh sounds echoing in the distance. Like doors slamming and loud foot stomps. “I should’ve made a list. You know, you should’ve really given me a heads up—“

_“Where the fuck is your mother?!”_

The voice was so loud, deep and harsh. Julian felt his body froze as he pressed the phone closer to his ear to listen closer. Jackson struggled to keep his voice even as he probably failed to cover up his phone correctly.   


“I don’t know. Haven’t seen her—“  


_“Do you even bother speaking to her at all?”_

Jackson struggled to answer. He mumbled a quiet, “No.”

_“You just love walking around her acting like you own the place. Acting like such a god damn spoiled child every chance you get.”_

“I said I don’t know where she’s at,” Jackson replied. His voice was a little louder, but shaken. There was more rustling sounds through the line along with yet another loud door slam. “Not my fault he doesn’t know where his fucking wife is. _Fuck_. Hey, Jules?—Julian?”

“I’m still here,” Julian answered after finding his voice once more. Even if it was through the static faulty phone line, the low drawl of Robert Kim still terrified Julian. He had only within the immediate line of fire very few times, but each time it was nothing short of blood-curdling. Jackson always joked about it, but Julian knew he was afraid of him too. Maybe the most out of all of them.

“Did you hear that?”

“I think so.”

Jackson huffed. Then, there was another door slam that echoed through the line. “You…Shit. It’s the call that he got—“

“What call?”

“The call—_the call_, Julian!” Jackson explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, but without any context Julian was still at a loss. “He got the call and…you know what, never mind. Just pretend you didn’t hear any of that mess, okay? He’s just being an asshole because…cause he can be, I don’t know. “  


Julian struggled to reply. “Are you…” his words trailed off. He didn’t think he should finish his sentence. Jackson wouldn’t like it. He never liked talking in detail about his family, especially his father. “Do you want to come over?” Julian asked instead.  


That was what they always resolved to. One question. For the past two years. It was more often back then, when things felt heavier because their problems were new and fresh. Jackson and Julian didn’t share many traits in common other than the fact that they made up the staggering 40% population of Korean kids at school. Julian liked to believe that they were pulled towards each other by choice rather than convenience. He didn’t want their friendship, which held more good weight than bad, to be disregarded as something convenient and transparent.

He had never thought of it like that before, but when situations at home because unbearable, they intuitively knew where to go. Especially since Ahnn started to work nights and was less available for the two of them.

They gravitated towards each other.

“Are you sure? It’s really late,” Jackson asked. “I don’t want to barge in and…I don’t know. It’s just really loud here. It’s been like that all night.”

“I know,” Julian told him quietly. His voice had fallen into a whisper. “You can come and hang out over here. Just come through my window and we can watch trashy dramas or something. It doesn’t matter what.”

“Can we watch reruns of Friends?”

“You know I hate that show.”

Jackson feigned an exasperated sigh. His breath rung loudly over the line. “I’ll see you in a bit to watch Friends.”

Julian smiled. He knew it was pointless to argue. “Fine. I’ll see you in a bit, ok?”

“Okay,” Jackson replied softly.

-  


_AHNN_

The only light in the house was coming from the TV in the living room. Ahnn barely spared it a glance from where he sat in the dining room. Surrounding him were the cruel reminders of what he was putting off. As always, he regarded his laziness with something that suggested he was trying and that he had full control of what he did and didn’t do.

He had been looking at the paper before him for the past hour. From the beginning, it was supposed to be simple; a three paragraph essay on the Civil Union Act of the Second War. It had been assigned three weeks ago and quickly approaching its due date this upcoming Friday. Ahnn has every intention to start, but for some glaringly obvious reason he couldn’t concentrate.  


He had spent the better part of the day plotting out ways to handle the outpour of anxiety that engulfed him this morning. It’s not that he wanted to or enjoyed how compulsively some ideas overtook his every waking thought. The only way to calm himself down was to grab the issue by the neck and find a resolution. The thought of someone dying at the expense of his own stupid impulses freaked him out more than anything. Fuck, was that even the guy who was groping Julian? What did any of them really know about him anyway? Aside for the fact he was a giant fucking pervert.

He realized he had crossed a line when he had gone off on Julian earlier during the day, but he couldn’t hold himself back because he felt like every bit of that night had come crashing back into the forefront of his mind, spat right in his face, and demanded that he notice that just because he wanted to forget about something didn’t mean that it was all going to go away. The worst end of it was that he had single handedly pulled himself under the wave of it all. He wanted to help everyone, he fed off of ignoring his own needs and pushed himself to protect others before himself.

It was just easier. To care care of everyone else but himself.

_Just write your own essay and shut the fuck up, _he reminded himself bitterly.

Naturally, he didn’t._  
_

Ahnn pulled up his phone screen and opened up the internet browser. He stalled a bit, wondering if he needed to dig around some more. But by the time he really made himself believe he didn’t care (and that it would only add insult to injury in the end), he had already typed in the name Stephen Soh on Google and clicked Search.

Several links popped up at the top. Mostly social media profiles that were either actually Stephen Soh’s or somebody else with Stephen or Soh in their name. Ahnn clicked on one of the top links, the one listing Stephen Soh’s instagram profile. The profile photo didn’t show much, just the back of the guy overlooking the city. There wasn’t anything too revealing either; Stephen Soh’s name was simply listed in the description and without a single word in the bio section. Below, there was only three photos listed. None of the photos showed his face. 

The bastard, if this even was the same bastard, was definitely low key.

Ahnn then clicked on the tagged photos section, which only listed one.

“Shit,” he muttered, mouth agape as he enlarged the photo.  


It was Elsie. The same Elsie from work. She was sandwiched in between two guys Ahnn assume were her brothers, one of them obviously being Stephen Soh. He had to be the taller one out of the two. He was barely smiling in the photo, expression stiff and unimpressed. He was also wearing a black tank, which showed off his arms; both heavily tattooed, all the way up to his neck. Ahnn didn’t remember much from that night, but he had a inkling he had meet eyes with that cynical gaze at least once before he had proceeded the beat the shit out of him.

Ahnn’s eyes drifted back to Elise.

Fuck, that was her brother, wasn’t it? But she had only ever mentioned one of them, really. She didn’t discuss her family too much because she always said they stressed her out and created knots in her stomach (whatever the hell that even meant). She had never uttered the words Stephen, so maybe this might have only been a coincidence? Shit, but the fucking caption read ‘Fam’ with a stupid purple heart next to it. And she hadn’t been at work even thought she was scheduled to close tonight.  


Ahnn closed the tab in an instant and slammed his phone into the table.

“Okay. That’s not good,” he breathed out. He had texted Elsie earlier to meet up with her and try to get more details on the origins of her name car, or rather Mr. Pae’s car. How the hell was he supposed to try and—

Of course, whenever there was tide washing over Ahnn, there was always something else readily available for him to distract himself with. Tonight, it was something less heavy than the potential fact that he might have taken part in someone’s death. But still, he felt the anxiety in him only deepen because it always came back to his mother, didn’t it?

“Ahnnie?”

Ahnn looked up to see the faint silhouette of his four-year-old sister as she lingered by the door frame. Her eyes were barely staying open as she began taking wobbly steps towards Ahnn.  


“Corinna, go to bed,” Ahnn told her gently, getting up from his chair to meet her halfway. He kneeled down before her to catch her short arms as she drew him into a hug. “It’s too late to be up,” he told her.  


“I know,” she said quietly. “My nighty-night light went out.”  


Ahnn sighed. He’d have to scrap together whatever was left of his paycheck to see if he could buy a replacement bulb. “Just hold Yuni closer and she’ll protect you. You know the drill, petal.”  


“I was having nightmares and Yuni keeps kicking me,” Corinna explained sleepily into the crook of Ahnn’s neck. “I miss mama,” she admitted quietly, like a secret she was nervous of revealing.  


Ahnn really wasn’t in the right state of mind to deal with this. “I know,” he patted his sister’s back gently before pulling away. “But, you gotta go to sleep, ok? You have school in the morning, so you—“

“No! I wanna talk to Mama,” she whined, slapping Ahnn’s hand away. “Let me talk to her. Please, Ahnnie. So, I can sleep. I want talk to her and tell her it’s okay.”  


Ahnn looked to the ground as he grimaced. He could already feel his stomach turning. He suppressed the urge to ignore Corinna and just lock himself in the bathroom and take some of his medication to ease his way through all of this shit a lot easier, but he couldn’t because if he did, he’d be risking running out of the medication before the end of the month. “Alright. Come on, let’s sit in the couch,” he told Corinna as he reached over and pocketed his phone.  


Corinna took his hand as he led them into the small living room, sitting across from the TV no one was watching. The background noise was a nice distraction, Ahnn noted, because he usually hated doing this for his sisters.

He reached for his phone again after he situated Corinna in the couch, near one of the lumpy pillows. As he stood and lingered over his small sister, he could feel his chest and fingers going a little numb with uneasiness. Shit, he really hated doing this, even after all of these years.

He pulled up his voicemail log and looked at the only one still remaining. From his mother, exactly two years and eight months ago.

He really should have deleted it by now, because it only served a cruel reminder rather than a memory.

**Hae Ra’s final words to her children:** You are my world and I’m so sorry.  


His mother’s voice was lovely and very soothing. She was never crass and always proper with how she handled herself around everyone, but she had always lived under a dark cloud it seemed. Her presence was always a fresh breath of air, and the way she radiated warmth was unparalleled with anybody else in Ahnn’s life. It wasn’t often that he allowed himself to miss her this much, but tonight he wanted to cling to her every word, to every pause and vowel she uttered.

He needed this just as much as Corinna probably did.

For a few moments, as his mother’s words continued to linger through the air and wrapping themselves around Ahnn’s memories and everything that followed after she was gone, he thought about death.

He thought about loss and how it fits into his life and how much it seems to weigh in his every thought even when he’s not fully aware of it. He wanted to stabilize himself with the idea of it all, of what it meant to leave someone behind and keep moving forward without looking back, but that was hard wasn’t it? He was foolish if he thought it was going to be that simple. Because it wasn’t. And maybe that’s what had been plaguing him all along; that no matter how much chaos he wanted to avoid by gripping his grief by the neck and pretending his fists didn’t hurt from the effort, that he was always going to feel it. The loss. The burst of loneliness that kept him awake at nights sometimes.

He thought about what the doctor had told him at the clinic.

_“Sometimes, it’s not all in our heads, our worries and fears. If we ignore a problem with another problem, it only created a plethora of headaches.”_

Ahnn thought about the headaches and the sadness that he didn’t want to dwell in because he knew that if he did, he’d loose purpose. And that was all he really had left to guide him going forward.

His propose was to wake up and go along with the tide of sadness, not against it. He had a lot to think going forward. His sisters, Jackson, Julian, Aunt Jenny, his job—everything was so much more important than going against the tide.

“I love you, Mama,” Corinna whispered as she settled herself against Ahnn’s chest. She kept her gaze lifted towards the phone a few second after the voicemail finished playing. She slowly drifted off to sleep, slurring her words. “I miss you. It’s okay, and I miss you…”

-  


_JULIAN_   


The cold had seeped in when Jackson had climbed through his window and didn’t remember to shut the window closed. It hadn’t been noticeable until maybe a few hours later, when they were both already situated over Julian’s bed; Jackson laid vertically on the end with a pillow resting under his arms as he watched the small screen on Julian’s wonky laptop. The sound was a little off and it was really about a few smacks away from really not having any sound at all, but they managed well enough if they sat next close enough to it. Julian sat on the corner of his bed, up against the wall with his leg spread out until his socked feet barely grazed the edge of Jackson’s back.

“I don’t need to ask for things or help from anyone, I just prefer to…for it to be available. I don’t need to be here, but I am because I want to be, not because I felt like I needed to be sheltered or whatever,” Jackson had explained to him when he first arrived. His cheeks were beet red from the cold and he was only wearing a pair of old soccer shorts and a sleeping shirt with the words ‘Boats and Bitches’ plastered right in the middle in bright red.  


Julian had nodded, feeling kind of stupid for still going ahead and asking Jackson about why his father had been so angry at him in the first place and reminding Jackson should know to just be upfront with Julian from the start. He wouldn’t have turned Jackson away had he known. Secretly, as Jackson was dismissing him, Julian was kinda annoyed he was being waved off like his concerns didn’t matter. 

“I’m just trying to help,” Julian reminded his friend. “You and Ahnn always think I’m…stupid and don’t notice things, but I do.”  


Jackson looked up at Julian and the corners of his mouth kind of fell into a small frown. “You’re not stupid. I never said you were. Why are you even bringing that up as if we treat you that way?”

“You don’t have to say it,” Julian admitted, unwilling to look away from Jackson’s sudden and intense stare. “I know Ahnn thinks it and sometimes you do too, so–”  


“Julian, you’re not stupid,”Jackson cut in, frustrated at first. He gave his head a little shake, forcing himself to smile as if to avoid any potential of an argument bubbling over the two of them. “Stop saying shit like that, please. You’re one of the smartest and kindest people I know and it pisses me off when you say things like that about yourself.”

Julian didn’t say anything else in regard after that. He figured he didn’t need to dig more into it than Jackson was letting on. Instead, Julian went on to confess to him that he had named him as the cause of Julian’s busted lip, which had at first irritated Jackson because he already got enough shit from Julian’s mother for being a vegetarian and now he was going to have to explain to her that he wasn’t going to hurt Julian ever again. But, eventually Jackson found himself laughing about it and even going as far as pretending that he was actually beating the shit out of Julian, which in turn resulted in some poorly executed wrestling moves between the two friends.   


“I’m cold,” Jackson whined as the end credits rolled for the current episode an hours later. He turned to Julian with a pout. “Don’t you own blankets? There’s just bedsheets here on your bed, man. I know it’s April, but—“

“I’ll get you one. Just shut up,” Julian told him, giving him a small kick with the tip of his foot. Jackson squirmed and laughed into his pillow.  


See, Julian noticed the window was still cracked open. He felt the wave of the icy winds pouring into his bedroom, and yet, he still pretended he hadn’t noticed anything differently and walked over to his closet to look for a spare blanket.

He had three. Not very thick (during the harsher winter months he usually used all three just to get through the night), but for tonight these would do just fine. They could use them and still sleep comfortably.

Julian only grabbed one.

He didn’t think about it even though he knew exactly what he was doing, but in his defense it was late and he felt kind of lonely himself. It was way too late and he just needed to pretend he only had one blanket so he can share it with Jackson. He knew this was stupid, but they’d share blankets before. This wasn’t new.  


What was new, however, was the very present fact that Julian had masturbated to the image of Jackson a few hours earlier.

That was something he could think about.  


But he didn’t.

“Yay,” Jackson said as he stretched his arms to catch the blanket. Which he didn’t because the blanket mainly settled over the lower part of his waist. “I think I might sleep here tonight, if that’s okay? I don’t want to go back home yet. ‘M too lazy.”

Julian stood at the end of the bed as he watched Jackson sit up and lazily make his way to the end of the bed, where Julian was previously resting. He settled the blanket over the entire span of the bed and laid down on Julian’s pillow, his droopy eyes as he looked back at Julian. “That’s…fine, I don’t care if you stay. You can borrow some clothes for school tomorrow and…yeah. So I’ll just, I think I’m gonna go to sleep already.”

“Actually, If we can, I want stop by my house on the way to school cause I still need my gym bag for soccer practice. Since I’ll be there I can find something to wear real quick.”

Julian shrugged. “Whatever you want,” he dismissed. “We can have breakfast and leave earlier to make sure we make it to school on time.”

Jackson scoffed, jokingly rolling his eyes. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want your pristine, shiny school boy image to be tainted with a tardy slip, right?”

Julian blushed and suddenly felt like a massive idiot. He cleared his throat and pretended to stretch his arms and actually forced himself to yawn. “I don’t care about that. I’m not…I’m not a shiny school boy or whatever. God, you say some silly things sometimes, Jackson.”

That made Jackson laugh. “You’re our shiny school boy. It’s your brand, dude,” he taunted, threatening to throw his pillow at Julian. “But seriously, get the fuck out of the way, you’re blocking the view of the laptop.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez, don’t be rude. I’m trying to go to sleep here.”  


Jackson patted the space next to him, where he had fluffed another pillow for Julian to rest on. “Sleep away, my friend! But you get the wall spot on the bed cause I wanna keep watching Friends for a little bit before I knock out.”  


Julian kneeled into his bed, his weight dipping the mattress a little as he slowly climbed in. As he settled next to Jackson, and felt their bodies pressed just slight against one another, he tried hard not to focus on what it would feel like if he reached out and gently laid his hand over Jackson’s middle and pulled him closer.

Julian suddenly felt too self-aware of his presence, which was stupid because this was his bed and it shouldn’t be like he’s a foreigner in his own living space. But, yet again, he kept thinking of where he was going to lay down and what he wanted to do. As the silence fell over them, he was presently reminded with that lonely feeling he was overwhelmed with earlier. He felt horrible about it, but there was little he could do not to let himself feel it all over again.

He wanted to smell Jackson. Reach over and run his fingers through his wispy brown hair and just lean over and smell the scent of his shampoo or maybe even lean over a little more and run his hand over Jackson’s neck, maybe even down the length of his back—  


“So, you’re mom really hates me, huh?” Jackson suddenly spun around so he was face to face with Julian, who looked very winded. “Can you give a breakdown as to how the hell I beat you up in case she interrogates me?”

Julian hid half of his face into his pillow and tried not to feel like Jackson was reading his filthy mind right at that moment. “What do you mean?” he grumbled uncomfortably.

“How did we fight? Was it because you threw the first punch, or was it me?“

“Hm. Well we just…dunno, got in a fight. Like guys do sometimes.”  


Jackson furrowed his brow. “Yeah, but I mean I messed you up pretty bad, remember?” He reached over and gently pressed his index finger over the bruise on Julian’s lip. “Also, you could have to said Ahnn, you know. It didn’t have to be me.”

Julian agreed.

It didn’t have to be Jackson.

Jackson chuckled lightly, turning to lay on his back and fixing his gaze up at the ceiling pensively. “I’m really curious if I made the list your mom is always taking about whenever she’s angry at someone.”

Julian couldn’t help but to smile. “Yeah, you did.”


	5. Chapter 5

_LENNON_

The city of Tinsley didn’t bare sadness very well; it didn’t know how. And it was starting to become apparent that Mickey Soh didn’t either. Lennon thought he admired that about his friend, the steel in his bones and the manner in which he dismissed grief with a shrug of nonchalance, but grief had always probably been a part of Mickey.

So, perhaps he didn’t need to disregard anything. He just accepted it and moved on.

A SHORT INTRODUCTION TO THE MICKEY SOH’S GRIEF: Maybe this had occurred long before Mickey was really a living, breathing truth of steel bones and disparaging mouth—but weed made people honest, right? Or maybe it just made Mickey honest. Lennon didn’t think too much about it because he had been stuck on the fact that cigarettes had been burned into the flesh of Mickey’s skin at the age of five and it had all started with a game. That’s how Mickey had described his grief, or rather it’s inception. A game. It might have started with his father or his father’s denigrating discourse or maybe it even started with Stephen, but it was an odious start to lessen someone’s worth.

Is that what they wanted to do to Mickey? Tear away at his character until he became submissive and unapparent? What an awful way to live, Lennon thought. He still does. Every time he looks at Mickey’s arms and sees the cigarette burns garnished over the knuckles in his hands, he gets reminded of the grief Mickey has to bare and live through.

Stephen’s funeral was on a Sunday and it was quiet. It took place at the St. Mary Methodist Church uptown, where the flower gardens were always blooming and the stained glass windows were always clean and spotless. Lennon didn’t expect it to be loud, but he felt the silence gripping the back of his neck very unnerving. As he sat and observed the service commence, surrounded by many unfamiliar faces, he found himself deeply troubled with he realization that Stephen was actually dead, that his body was going to be buried six feet under ground.

A few years ago, Lennon remembered hearing in health class that it took a body between forty to fifty years to decompose in the coffin; for the flesh and left over presence of someone to fully vanish into just a simple skeletal structure of existence.

Mickey’s mother spoke sad memories of her eldest son. Her pretty face was tearful and with a sadness that appeared to have been permanently etched into her kind features long before the death. Mickey’s sister, Elise, was quiet and unresponsive, refusing to speak during her turn to go up to the podium and pay her respects. Lennon had never been around the Soh house long enough to get a sense of her. Through word of mouth, he just knew that she was just as troubled as the rest of the family and had an unwavering fondness for narcotics. She had once offered Lennon oxycodone. Or she might have tried to sell it to him.

It was at that moment, as Lennon sat in one of the first pews and watched as Mickey took the front stage and sat in front of the piano with an exasperated sigh leaving his lips, that he realized that Mickey was merely an extension of such an adverse family history. That he never really stood a chance to be different from them.

What an beastly truth to bare (on top of everything else). It reminded Lennon of the drugs that sat tucked away back in those boxes. Of the simmering fear that burdened his own mind, even though Mickey was solely responsible for the distribution of the drugs.

There was the soft hum of a note.

Mickey’s fingers glided over the piano keys gently at first, his first few notes shaky. Then, the entire room drifted elsewhere as the pearly melody echoed through Lennon’s chest and brought him close to tears. It was moving and paced swiftly and beautiful braced by Mickey’s talent. He was a brilliant and an accomplished pianist, but he hated playing.

The distaste wasn’t missed on the slight scowl at the corner of his lips as he played.

Next to Lennon, Daniel sat with hunched shoulders as he dissolved into a stream of tears.

-

“Please, no crying,” Mickey urged them after the service had finalized.

The had snuck to the back of the church after the fray of consolations from relatives had become too much for Mickey to be surrounded with.

Daniel took a shaky breath in and nodded, his eyes welling up with tears again “Of course, yeah. Whatever you want, buddy. Anything,” he told Mickey in a small voice. “You know I love you guys, right? You too, Lennon. You guys are my best friends and I’m glad I met you guys when I did.”

Against their will, Daniel squeezed himself int he middle of Lennon and Mickey and wrapped his longs arms around them and brought them into a tight, loving embrace. Mickey groaned, of course, but Lennon could feel his Mickey’s arms wrapping around his back and falling easily into the hug.

For a moment, it seemed like it was enough. The gesture of being held and what it represented.

“Sorry you guys had to sit through all of that. It was so long,” Mickey said a minute later after they had pried Daniel’s arms away from themselves. He let out a shaky sigh. “Too fucking, am I right?”

That was one take on it, of course.

No one brought up the lack of sorrow inside the church. Or the silence that spoke volumes of Stephen’s likelihood. Daniel’s tears were amongst the few shed; a kind gesture for the wretched.

Daniel was just too good to everyone.

Lennon watched as Mickey pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lighter from his trouser pockets. His hands shook as he pulled a white cylinder and held it up to his lips. A click of light later and there were smoke clouds polluting the air all around them. Neither Daniel nor Lennon gave they friend any protest, despite wanting to glower and judge the disgusting habit.

They simply stood idly to the side as Mickey continued to hold the cigarette in between shaky fingers.

They were silent. Didn’t know what to say, really. Around them, the trees swayed with the swift winds, the pesky birds chirped, and the sunlight was bright and dancing over their shoulders.

None of them really knew how to bare sadness very well, it seemed.

Was that the right word for it all? Sadness?

“Did you guys know I haven’t played in four years? I was shit up there,” Mickey mumbled, flicking the end of his cigarette and watching the ash slowly trickle down into the grass. “My mom literally had to beg me to play something. Anything. She wanted to be reminded of a time where Steph was the happiest. Whatever the fuck that means.”

_They’d stick their cigarettes into my hands, when I fucked up on a note,_ Mickey had told Lennon once. They had been so drunk on Hennessy on a school night. The words just fell out of Mickey’s lips. _They laughed about it because they thought it was the funniest thing in the world. Me messing up._

“Stop it, you were wonderful,” Daniel assured him. He reached out and gave Mickey’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Beethoven doesn’t have shit on you.”

Mickey didn’t say much after that.

He was still afraid; closing in on himself like he always did when the fear become too much over his steel bones.

Lennon could notice.

“Let’s go,” Lennon said after a while. He could feel the muscles on the back strain as he looked back towards the empty parking lot.

Even from the distance, he could still make out the shape of Miles’ fucked up Ford Fusion waiting for them.

“Let’s fucking get this over with,” Mickey muttered, flicking his cigarette into the grass. “You told your brother it was straight to my house, right?”

“That’s the plan. Daniel, you’re driving back to school in your car, right?” Lennon glanced back at Daniel, who had proceeded to give Mickey yet another smothering hug.

This kid. He was truly too bright and buoyant for this world.

“I’m allowing you this. Because I know you’re sad and you can bet your ass you won’t get the chance ever again,” Mickey warned their sensitive friend, who only nodded and hugged Mickey a little tighter.

And yeah, Mickey hugged Daniel back. Who wouldn’t?

“Give him a break, he’s messy, but he means well,” Lennon told Mickey once they all separated. Daniel to his fancy new Tesla that his father had gifted him for his eighteenth birthday and Lennon and Mickey towards Miles’ incessant honking.

“He can be messy without suffocating me to death,” Mickey said, as if he hadn’t held on to Daniel like his life depended on it just moments ago. Under the faint light that seeped over his face, it wasn’t hard to notice the notes of sadness clinging to his eyes. “Think I got a plan, though. To get us started.”

Right. The drugs. The fucking drugs.

This was ought to be good.

“Great, can’t wait to hear it,” Lennon said as he pulled the door to Miles’ car open.

Mickey barely greeted Miles as they boarded the car. Instantly, he plugged in his headphones and started listening to music on his phone.

Miles paid him no mind because he knew Mickey and was used to his unorthodox lapses of shitty social cues. Instead, he clasped a hand over Lennon’s knee and told him things were suppose to look up from this point on. That Mickey was going to get through this in one piece.

Lennon really hoped so.

-

The plan proposal had been simple: sell.

“That’s your plan?” Lennon asked, mouth slightly agape as he stared back at Mickey, who was perched on top of the writing desk next to his bed.

Behind them, the clouds were hanging low on the fields. Sunlight felt scarce and it made the mood muddy and deplorable. It was colder suddenly, but neither of them made any movements to shut the balcony door.

It didn’t matter because Mickey’s room was always cold.

“Yes,” Mickey replied with knitted brows. “We sell that shit. All of it. As much as we can over the course of several nights. How hard can it be?”

Lennon didn’t have to think to know it was going to be really fucking hard. They weren’t trying to come up with clever ways to sell weed or even narcotics—they were fighting their owns minds to try and understand the method of selling cocaine. A lot of cocaine. A shitload of cocaine.

“Mickey, did you see how much shit you got back there? That can take weeks or months to sell. And that’s even if people want to buy it in large quantities,” Lennon countered lamely, stripping off his blazer and tossing it on top of Mickey’s massive bed.

Mickey’s entire room was too big and too bare to feel tranquil. The only thing that took a considerable amount of space were a dusty upright piano, a tall shelf full of books, and old music sheets torn at the edges.

“What makes you think they won’t want to buy in bulk? It’s good coke, you said so yourself a few nights ago.”

Fuck. It really had been. “It was, but think about it: who are you trying to sell to here? A bunch of privileged kids trying to get fucked up on the weekend before either going back to their school dorms or back to their house that they still share with their parents. No one’s going to buy more than a few grams.”

“We can raise prices? So, like 80 per gram?”

“No ones gonna pay that much.” Tinsley was simplistic in that sense. While it failed economically in every aspect imaginable, you can bet your sweet ass the drugs were cheap and the drugs were good.

“But you would, right? Maybe if you make it seem like it’s good enough to justify the price—“

“Uh. I’d never pay that much for coke. I only paid half whenever I bought from Stephen.”

Mickey gave him a hard look. “But obviously, you’d be willing to pay more if you brought it from me, right?”

“Fuck no. 45 at most and that’s stretching it,” Lennon shook his head, and then remembered he wasn’t in the midst of a deal right now. He sighed. “I mean…I’m not exactly a trend setter, am I? Even if I pretended to pay that much, no one’s gonna give a shit.”

Mickey groaned and dropped his back down to rest along the length of his desk. Whatever pencils or books he had lying around went rolling off to the ground, clinking against the marble floors. “Shit. Okay,” he breathed out, frustrated. “That’s literally the only plan I thought about because that’s the only thing I can do? Sell and sell expensively.”

Sell. That’s what it had come down to, right? Lennon felt a little queasy with the notion of dealing—he never thought to explore the trade before. He had no reason to. No reason at all.

What a bizarre abstraction: the fundamentals of selling illicit drugs.

Mickey thought of something else:

”We could try and sell in Hiven? I’ve heard the drug mules were scraped up by the DEA a few months ago and they’re probably low on supply and really desperate?”

“That seems too dangerous…” Lennon shook head head. “They locked up the mules for a reason. We’ll be of age in a matter of months, so they don’t care. They’ll lock us up on sight if they found us selling in a foreign district. Also, Mickey, come on—let’s not get too hardcore invested in this.”

“We’re not? It’s called brainstorming.”

“We’re toeing the line of being criminals.”

“We’re talking about selling drugs, are we fucking not? I think we very well crossed that line already, Lennon.”

“Doesn’t Stephen have any notes on this? Have you checked his old bedroom? He might have written some things down to help us,” Lennon said. He felt his chest heavy and like the air in the room was suddenly gone. He wanted to be helpful, he really did, but just like Mickey, he was also afraid.

Mickey scoffed. “I should have thought about that, right? Seeing if _mayhaps_ my good old brother created a comprehensive cheater’s guide to successfully selling cocaine. If I decide to look now, do you think I’ll also find a million dollars under his mattress because wouldn’t that be the most convenient thing right now, right, Lennon?!—“

“I’m trying to be helpful, you don’t have to be such an asshole,” Lennon bit back. “I hate when you get like this.”

“Well, stop coming up with stupid ideas then.”

“It’s better than just sitting around thinking that 80 per gram is gonna get us anywhere. Don’t you realize how unattainable this is? God, Mickey. You’re brother just died and his funeral was today—don’t you even care?”

Lennon brought his hand over his mouth, feeling the pang of guilt burst from within his chest.

Does Mickey care?

What a stupid, inane way to shove things into perspective. Of-fucking-course he cared. Mickey cared so deeply, his face blatantly bared the symptoms of despair and he didn’t complain or thought out loud about how he might cower in terror at any second. Lennon saw it all present in every inch of his skin.

“What? Do you want me to cry for him or something?” Mickey asked as he braced his body to sit upright. Several music sheets and pencil shavings stuck to his back. His tone was like like thick molasses—dripping with apathy.

“No. You can do whatever you want. I shouldn’t have worded it like that. I’m sorry, I’m just kind of at a loss here,” Lennon admitted bitterly. “I want to help you, but I just don’t know how.”

Maybe it hadn’t been such a bright idea to try and move mountains while Stephen was barely sinking and getting used to living beneath the earth.

“I know you’re trying,” Mickey addressed quietly. Next to him, the clouds had migrated and gave way to the sunlight once more. “But, I’m gonna suffer for it, not you. I just need a little bit of help here. I already decided that I’m going to do it. I’m gonna just sell all of it. And then move the fuck on.”

Move the fuck on.

Now, that was a concept Lennon could get behind.

“I’m gonna help you,” Lennon told him earnestly. He’s still seeking with his own anxieties and trepidation, but he couldn’t leave Mickey to fend for himself. “I just need some time to think about this, okay?”

“It’s fine.”

“You don’t sound like it’s fine.”

“Do you want me to sing it to you or something?”

“No, I just,” Lennon took a shaky breath in. “So, it’s okay if I get back to you on it? On what I can do to help?”

Mickey shrugged, reaching to his back to dust off the pencil shavings. He avoided Lennon’s eyes. “There’s a party uptown after the soccer semi-finals next Friday, you have until then to figure it out cause I need to start moving things along before I go insane.”

Five days.

Somehow, that felt like enough time.

“Okay. That’s fair enough.” Lennon nodded. He begun playing with the hem of the sleeve on his black dress shirt. Five days. He had five days to figure out how he could help Mickey.

“Where are you gonna keep the drugs?” Lennon asked, minutes later when their conversation had dissolved into awkward silence.

“About that,” Mickey jumped off the desk and nodded Lennon to follow him downstairs. He had begun smoking another cigarette and it hung from his lips as he led them towards the back of the property. “Think I’ve come to a solution that’ll keep us mobile and easily accessible.”

They were out in the back yard, which expanded over several acres of green grass and rose bushes. It was truly an alluring sight to witness. The Sohs might be on their last shred of millions trying to upkeep their luxurious lifestyle, but they still stood pretty high on a pedestal as far as Tinsley was concerned. Sure, the media was tearing them to shreds right now, but they fucking loved talking about the Sohs and their ten million dollar home.

The two massive infinity pools were large enough to reflect the afternoon horizon of a harsh sun and lingering Summer clouds.

It was a beautiful day for a funeral and the reveal of cocaine stuffed in the trunk of an 1980s yellow Volvo. It was like a musky, golden splotch of piss in a line of opulence. It actually made the two other BMWs appear even more extravagant. Lennon couldn’t look away from it even if he wanted to.

“This piece of shit actually came in handy, who knew?” Mickey said, holding the trunk open because the hatchback was evidently busted.

Lennon stared straight ahead into the open trunk. Several stacks of cocaine were neatly spread out over the entire length of the trunk. An immaculate structure of Stephen Soh’s legacy.

He hummed and after a few moments, he looked up at Mickey. “Elise is not very happy about this, I assume?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, pulling his arm back and letting the trunk slam shut. “Told her she can keep my BMW. Trade of the fucking century, am I right?”

-

_JULIAN_

Morning came a lot sooner than Julian had expected. The last thing he remembered was the soft hum of Jackson’s sleepy voice as he talked. He wasn’t even saying anything important, just senseless and frivolous chatter (Because Jackson Kim was built from noise and distraction, he couldn’t ever just sit in silence).

At one point Julian had stopped listening and felt himself sink into a deep comfortable sleep. He noticed the moonlight through the window dance over their bodies, and before he was truly gone in his dreams, he wondered how it would feel like to sleep next to Jackson every night. How it would feel to be lulled by Jackson’s voice as he talked about nothing and everything that ran through his mind.

Several hours later, Julian was awoken by the tickle of the morning light over his nose and Jackson’s arm weighing down against the middle of his chest.

The realization was fuzzy because Julian was still very tired, but once he noticed the way Jackson’s arm gently rested against him, he couldn’t help but to smile a little. Perhaps it might’ve been a smile of gratitude for the happy accident (he had thought about this happening last night). Either way he selfishly allowed himself to enjoy it because it wasn’t going to last.

And it didn’t.

”Your sisters are loud,” Jackson grumbled tiredly into his pillow. Outside, Julian’s sisters were chasing each other in the hallway, laughing silly and banging on the walls. Jackson whined and hid his entire face under the blanket. “Silence them, please.”

“Have you met them?”

“Have you met me?”

“We should be getting up anyway,” Julian whispered back to him, a little sad as Jackson shifted on the bed and pulled his arm away from his touch. “It’s…half past six already. Wow, it felt like we slept for like two seconds.”

Jackson whined again, tugging the covers until he transformed into a fetus blanket burrito. “We did sleep for two seconds. Fuck, I’m too comfortable to move. Don’t make me move.”

Julian sat up groggily and looked down at Jackson, who was doing his best to hide his face into his pillow again, but kept peering up at Julian. He looked…so delicate like this; so soft and sleepy. The image tugged at Julian’s heart strings easily.

He had to force himself to look away. “Ugh. When did we even go to sleep?”

“Shhhh,” Jackson urged. “Doesn’t matter cause we’re gonna keep sleeping.”

“Jack—stop pulling me!”

Jackson laughed into the pillow. He had managed to unfurl one of his hands from the blanket and began tugging at the side of Julian’s shirt to get him to lay back down. “Sleeeeeeep,” he kept demanding as he giggled. “And did you just call me ‘Jack’?”

“You didn’t give me a chance to say the rest of your name. You’re being too whiny. We need to stop by your house on the way to school, remember? That’s we we need to be up earlier,” Julian reminded him.

Jackson groaned. “Fuck school.”

Julian gave into Jackson’s insistent pulls and laid back down. “You don’t mean that,” he said, settling back against the mattress.

“Yes, I do. Fuck school and their stupid books and stupid homework and tests. And fuck Mr. Castro too.”

“You’re cranky when you’re sleepy,” Julian noted.

“Sleeping will keep me young,”

“No, sleep will keep you lazy,” Julian laughed, rubbing his eyes softly. He yawned and tilted his head to his side to gaze at Jackson. “You sleep good?” he asked.

“Hm. Yep,” Jackson nodded, face still pressed against his pillow. He was smiling contently. “Had a dream about growing up.”

“Growing up? Like adulthood, you mean?”

“It’s gonna be great, I can tell,” he added, stirring so the blanket slipped down to his chest. “I’m gonna have a huge mansion full of cars and like seven FIFA World Cups under my very illustrious soccer career. And three pools. And like, five fridges. I’m never gonna go hungry.”

“You never go hungry now,” Julian chuckled. “Is that…is that where you want to see yourself? Realistically?”

“In my wildest dreams, yeah. Realistically? Probably with a good roof over my head and degree that gets me by in life. You?”

Julian thought about it briefly. “I used to know,” he admitted honestly. “Now, I’m not so sure. I want to do as much schooling as I can, that’s for sure. Besides that? I don’t know.”

“No restaurant for you?”

Julian shook his head definitively. “Nope. Maia or Billie can have it. I want something far away from home. Something maybe overseas.”

“Ew. Like America?”

“Maybe. I’ve always wanted to visit. You’ve heard of California, right?”

Jackson scoffed. He hated America like the stereotypical Tinsley native that he was. “Yeah, I have. I’ve also seen pictures and spoiler alert: not impressed. Go to Spain if you wanna have real fun.”

“Hm. Duly noted, but thanks for the recommendation.”

“Did you think we’ll all stay in touch? After we all graduate?” Jackson asked, voice quiet. His features settled into something pensive. He looked so weirdly calm like this. Julian wasn’t used to see him so deeply in thought. Jackson was always caught between commotion and a storm of words, it was hard to imagine him sitting still sometimes.

“I really hope so,” Julian replied quietly. The idea of losing his friends was always present, tucked away behind several other hubbubs of distractions all around him. He knew there was a time for things like friendships to strain themselves, even if it was gradual and thus pain free.

“Julian?”

“Yeah?” Julian answered, and held Jackson’s gaze. He noticed the stillness in his features. The way faint freckles ran down the bridge of his nose. How there was so much theory behind the gold specks in his eyes.

“What happened during the party?”

It was barely even a question, the way it was delivered; low and perturbed. How else was Julian supposed up take it aside than with a blistering heart and soured disposition?

“You were there, you know what happened.”

Jackson sighed. “I meant with you. What happened with you.”

So, what did happen? Julian began up wonder to himself and felt scared of the truth because the truth was there. It had been there since it’s inauguration into his every thought, when he was coerced into the arms of a stranger and left longing for something more permanent.

“I’m not one-hundred percent sure,” he answered Jackson earnestly. Julian rested his hands over his chest and thought a little harder about how he could word it without digging himself in to deep. “I drank a lot too fast. Then things were moving fast…and I just felt too much of everything. All at once. I think that’s where it all went wrong. I didn’t pace myself.”

Jackson nodded slowly. He stared at Julian’s hands drumming nervously against his chest. “I know we were all drinking, but…did you take anything?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does.” The vein in Jackson’s voice was real smooth and slipping with apprehension. It didn’t suit him, Julian noted.

“Did some coke, I think,” Julian admitted—he whispered, like a secret nobody knew, but of course they knew. They saw the white lines dusted over his nose that night. They must have. “I shouldn’t have done that, I know. It ruined the night and that’s not what I wanted. I know Ahnn is still kinda mad about that and…I get it. I get why he’s so mad about it. It was supposed to be a good night and you ruined it.”

“Fuck, Julian. Why would you do that?—the cocaine and the drinking?” Jackson asked. He was brimming with frustration now. “You know we don’t—none of us are down for that kind of shit. Why would you do that?”

Julian didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t think about why and instead thought about the neck kisses that led him to this morning, the touches that led him to the long hazy nights of fascination, of the pang guilt that had planted something in him.

“I know, but I just got carried away and…things were moving so fast. I didn’t really think about anything,” Julian replied. He wanted to know. He really did, because maybe it would have made the depletion of his being more bearable; if he knew when his mind decided to suddenly beg to kiss pretty boys instead of pretty girls. “I’m sorry it ruined the night. I know you guys were having fun when I just disappeared. I didn’t mean for it to, like…end up the way it did.”

Jackson opened his mouth to say something, but the fight in him ceased and he was soft at the edges again. Full of sleep and suppressed questions. “Wish I could sleep here for the rest of the day. And you know what else?”

“What?”

“You’d have to put a restraining order against me in order to keep me from coming back to you after we graduate. Even after we’re old and gray and taking care of Ahnn cause he’s gone senile,” Jackson reached over and brushed a few stray hairs away from Julian’s forehead. “Won’t that be fun? Of course, we’d probably just toss the old pouch in a home anyway. I won’t want to do it, but you’d give a compelling argument, so I would obviously say: why the fuck not?”

Julian smiled and watched as Jackson’s hand lingered a few seconds through the strands of his pink hair. Then, he cleared his throat. “We really should be getting up, though. I’m gonna shower and my shower is wonky so I gotta see if my sisters left any hot water—“

There was a knock at the door, which quickly turned into a harsh cacophony of sounds. The clash between the two worlds was unfitting. Julian froze and felt the waves of the aftermath roll down his shoulders and towards his back. He wanted to furl into his small bed, to keep talking and figuring out how many more times he could try and count Jackson’s freckles and losing himself in the small moments over and over again.

Instead:

The door was swung open. The reveal demonstrated the acrimonious faces of Amanda Pae. The stages of her anger weren’t varied by her mood, but by her sight. What she saw and didn’t like. Seeing Jackson laying next to Julian in his bed was something she didn’t like at all. It led her straight past the first stage of anger and deep into stage two. Vehement vexation. Eyes wide and mouth slack.

Oh, she was mad alright.

Julian begrudgingly met her gaze and knew he had to get up.

“Explain yourself,” she demanded as Julian stepped foot out of his bedroom. “Julian Park Pae, you heard me. Why are you sleeping with Jackson Kim?”

Julian stepped further into the hallway. The blush spread over his cheeks intensified. “Sleeping with—_Mom_! Don’t say things like that. We were just…we were just talking last night and he ended up staying over. He’s done so in the past, it’s not a big deal.”

“Why?” was all she responded, crossing her arms over her chest expectantly. “Julian, that is like sleeping with the enemy. He is trouble and I told you I didn’t like the idea of Jackson treating you like a garbage friend.”

“I’m not a garbage friend.”

“Then why does he treat you like such? He hit you. You’re still wearing the scars to prove it.”

“It’s barely a bruise on my lip now. And it doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

Amanda let out a cold, dry laugh. Her vexation was slowly turning into a boiling rampage. “But it did hurt at first, no? I even found your purple sweater hidden on the side of your mattress. All bloody, Julian! Bloody!”

Julian rubbed his hands over his face as he groaned. “Why are you going in my room? That’s invading my privacy.”

Amanda’s eyes widened. “Privacy? So you can sleep with Jackson Kim in peace, huh?”

“Mom, please stop saying that I’m sleeping with Jackson,” Julian pleaded. He felt a heat migrate from his cheeks down to his chest. He didn’t even want to analyze the derivation of her anger (was it because Jackson was here or because he was in Julian’s bed?).

Careful steps. Julian began taking careful steps towards the kitchen, hoping to reroute the conversation away from the vicinity of his bedroom.

Amanda furrowed her eyebrows. “But, you are sleeping with him? Julian, why do you let yourself be like this?”

That question actually stung. Julian had to bite his lip to keep himself from visibly flinching.

“He’s stayed over before, I don’t see the problem with him being here,” Julian objected in a moment of bravery. He didn’t demur his mother’s outburst often, if at all. He was toeing a line that was gonna cost him big. “It’s not a big deal. We made up and that’s all there’s is too it. Just leave it the hell alone, Mom. Stop freaking out about it.”

Ah, there it was.

The boiling rampage of Amanda Pae.

Eyes wide and wild. Voice low and drumming with enmity.

Go: “Excuse me? What did you just say to me?!”

Julian didn’t know what to say, if there was even anything to say for himself. The heat over his chest had depleted into something shameful and bitter. He held his mother’s gaze and felt himself getting smaller. He hadn’t realized his hip had collided against the corned of the kitchen counter Until he felt a sting.

Amanda didn’t even expect a response. A response would delay her rampage. “You better watch you mouth, young man,” her hand rose, index finger leading straight into the center of Julian’s chest. “Your father should see you raising your voice like that at me—speaking to me like that! Do you know where your father is instead? He’s thousands of miles away, tending to business to keep this family afloat and assuring we stay safe and with a roof over our heads. He is far away thinking he’s left his only son to look after his sisters and mother, hopefully shaping up into the responsible man he ought to be. Do you realize how wrong your father is right now?”

“No, I don’t realize it.”—God, what a response. Julian’s heart was weighing too heavy in his chest and he was talking with the sour tip of his tongue instead of his sensibility and damn, that really was gonna cost him.

Then, sweet Billie cued her grand entrance. A sharp pause in a seven o’clock rumpus between a vengeful mother and her docile son with a burst of bravery.

“BILLIE, STOP RUNNING AROUND THE HOUSE LIKE A CRAZY CHICKEN!”

Billie didn’t understand Amanda’s anger the way the two other Pae children did, so she giggled and allowed herself to crash against the side of Julian’s leg.

“Jesus, stop it already, Billie. You’re always so loud,” Julian shouted at her, pulling her small hands to unlatch away from his leg.

“Shut up!” Billie shouted, shoving Julian twice and proceeding to hide behind their mother’s side. “Stupid, mean boy. Mommy, give him away. Away!”

“We should give you away since you’re always yelling,” Julian snapped back at her.

“Maia! Come get your sister!” Amanda yelled towards the living room. On command, it took seconds for Julian’s other sister to pop up and scoop Billie away. All while Amanda’s sharp eyes never left Julian.

The severity of Amanda’s anger was nowhere near in sight (it’s so easy to distinguish how much she’s holding back behind her iron tongue), but when she was challenged so disdainfully, she uncoiled and she was unforgiving. Julian felt awful at the opposite end of it all, pressed into a counter and counting his blessings because he’s—

“So rude and disrespectful. I can’t even wrap my mind around it; watching you stand here and looking at me with defiance.”

“I’m not trying to be like that—“

“Be quiet!” she jammed her finger into Julian’s chest. “You will speak when I say you can speak. Your tone…the way you’re acting right now? That needs to go. You’re acting out and I don’t like it. I raised you better to be defiant, didn’t I? Using the Lord’s name in vain like that while yelling at your baby sister and—and sleeping with boys?”

Sleeping with boys.

It had circled back to the inaugural topic of a shitty morning.

Julian looked down at his feet. “I wish you’d stop wording it like that,” he said after a beat of silence. “I don’t sleep with boys. It’s just Jackson.” He grimaced as soon as the words fell from his lips.

Amanda took a step back, held her fury back and simply exhaled. Her expression grew neutral (maybe verging on resigned or simply relinquishing the heat clogged up in her veins). Without another word, she stepped into the kitchen to collect her purse and tucking some paperwork under her arm.

“Mom, I’m sorry—“

A final note in the 7am argument of a lifetime:

“You and I are gonna have a serious talk about this—Ah, actually, you know what? No, we’re not. I think I’ve made myself pretty clear. No more messing around because you will learn, believe me. I want you at the restaurant straight after school for the rest of the week, do you understand?”

“Mom—“

“Save it. Just stop disappointing me and fix your attitude. And I want the car back this weekend. If your fail to get it done, I’ll personally drive to Ahnn’s house and get it back. Are we clear?” she looked over her shoulder as she walked towards the living room. She shook her head disapprovingly. “I don’t even believe that you know where the car is at this point. All you’ve probably been doing is lying.”

She didn’t allow Julian to respond and just left him with the truth hanging from his lips. The ’_You’re right, I don’t where the car is. I don’t know at all and it’s because I’ve been lying to you about everything from the very beginning’_ was ready to fall into the air, but not quite. Julian stayed quiet and watched as his mother picked up a squirming Billie away from Maia’s grasp and led the two Pae girls out the door.

The anger in the air resolved into despondency in an instant.

Julian was still pressed against the kitchen when the loud creak of his bedroom door billowed into the air.

“She fucking hates me that much, huh?” Jackson said, announcing his presence into the silence of the house. “Goddamn. Like, get a grip Mrs. Pae. Am I right?”

Julian looked at him and wondered why the morning couldn’t just have been them two, talking about the future and pretending Julian wasn’t always actively trying to memorize every inch of Jackson’s face.

“She doesn’t hate you,” Julian reasoned, pretending to open the fridge door with purpose before letting it fall shut in an instant. “She’s just…mad. It’s okay. She’s mostly mad at me. It’s my fault.”

“For lying to her about me beating the shit out of you?”

Well, that was one way to color the picture. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Hm. Yeah, it really is your fault then,” Jackson agreed easily. He then yawned unnecessarily loud, oblivious to Julian’s shoulders sinking in more and the frown that took over his lips. “So, what’s for breakfast? Cause I’m hungrayyy!”

Okay. It was back to the noise then.

Julian swung the fridge door wide open as he stepped away, giving Jackson a full view of the contents inside. “Get whatever you want. I’m gonna go shower,” he told him sternly as he stepped into the hallway, leaving Jackson and his bewildered eyes alone in the kitchen.

-

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN JACKSON KIM THEN AND JACKSON KIM NOW:

THEN: He was born from noise and chaos, Julian had always known this. So, growing up as seeing Jackson’s noise getting louder and louder was quite a sight.

He was a small kid growing up, but with mighty fists.

In eight grade, he had contained the ardor in his mind for so long that when it spilled out, it was messy. It was tumultuous and directed at some poor kid picking on Jackson’s then girlfriend. It was really a schoolyard fight, but Jackson has beaten the kid pretty bad; granting him a ticket straight to the ER.

In that same year, Jackson fought two other kids for the same damn reason. One talked shit again to his then girlfriend (A pretty girl with braces and pink mouth who used to kiss other girls behind Jackson’s back) and the other one begun making fun of Julian’s pink hair.

It was all only bloody knuckles and bloody noses.

Julian had watched from the sidelines, as he had always done, and observed as Jackson became a powerful force, punching his fist at the air and into the earth during lapses of silence. He didn’t think of Jackson as someone who was desperate to fill the quiet, but as someone who understood Julian and made him laugh and pulled at his cheeks and begged him to come outside and play soccer.

He didn’t think of Jackson Kim.

Didn’t think of the chaos or the impossible ways he could make Julian melt just from a faint touch.

Didn’t think of Jackson like someone who should hold his hand.

Didn’t think of Jackson and the shape of his back and how it would feel to have him breathing (desperate, desperate) for Julian’s name.

Didn’t think. Didn’t think. Didn’t think.

NOW: He was reinforced with brassy tones and a knack for running and talking until his mouth ran dry. Julian got used to the noise after so many years; the endless conversations and things that didn’t matter or just made them laugh.

So what changed?

He thought it might have been the shift in Jackson’s perspective. The carelessness that he overworked himself to portray, the incessant need to run and to assure everyone that he wasn’t built to care. That he was built to keep moving, to laugh about dumb shit and to imagine himself bigger and better than he already was. (God, Julian admires that about him so much.)

The shift might have occurred in their 2nd year of high school.

(Maybe when Jackson’s convinced Julian to join the soccer team for one season only to realize Julian’s lungs couldn’t bare the responsibility of running. Julian, of course, still ran and paid the price for it after one of the worse asthma attack he ever had. It had only been three weeks of running together, but they had become closer. At the time it didn’t feel like it, but a pause in their friendship had occurred—)

Julian distinctly recalled the murmur of the brassy tones. He felt kinda dizzy with the sound waves and it almost made him believe that Jackson was powerful enough to get him to bare his nerves. But that—that was all just words into the air and Julian shrugged it all off. He didn’t think anything of it. He just saw Jackson and thought: what a complicated concept, knowing Jackson and living his golden spirit.

So what changed?

(And Julian started noticing the details the more they hung out. Constantly. Very constantly. Because Ahnn had lost his mother and stopped calling them back so they had to rely on each other for the big things and the scary things and every damn little thing. So, yeah. Maybe that’s where it had begun. 2nd year when Jackson asked, “Let’s take a run?” and Julian hated running but he had still nodded yes.)

Or maybe nothing changed?

Julian’s aversion to running and Jackson’s brassy tone remained instilled in them. They were still the same people with the same problems. They were still the same boys laughing like idiots during class and getting detention and getting scolded by Ahnn for being too loud sometimes.

Maybe that was it, really—

The only thing Julian knew, the truth that kept him up at night and made him twist and yearn in his dreams, was that he gravitated towards Jackson. And maybe he had always gravitated towards him. Julian had only barely realized this.

Nothing had changed.

-

The walk to school was probably too quiet, but there wasn’t much Julian wanted to do about it.

“Parents suck,” Jackson said, breaking up the silence of course. They were walking up the dirt roads that led them out of Julian’s neighbor hood and up to the north border where Jackson’s house was about four blocks away. He was still wearing his Boats and Bitches shirt, except it was now very wrinkly and fit some reason he couldn’t keep himself from continuously smoothing out the fabric.

Maybe he was cold. The bitter morning breeze wasn’t as gentle as it had been the past few days. Julian tried to offer him a sweater while they were still at his house, but Jackson had refused it; he just wanted to get going, to move.

Julian didn’t answer him and continued to quietly walk up the pathway, busying himself with watching the city of Tinsley have a hard time waking up.

Tinsley never woke up on time. It relied on the energy from last night to keep going. Like an unhealthy cycle that overworked itself just to barely have a measure of fun during dawn when the city really became alive. It felt exhausting to just exist here sometimes, Julian thought. How sad.

Jackson began hummed a few melodies of what sounded like Girls Just Want To Have Fun. Then, as they took a turn down towards the railways, he began whistling the song. He couldn’t ever just shut up and enjoy the silence.

“Ahnn texted me. He said he was going to be late for school today cause I guess Corinna is sick and he needs to take her to the doctor. Or maybe it’s Yuni. Does it matter? They’re both twins so I’m assuming they’re both bound to get sick anyway,” Jackson informed as he scrolled through his phone. He read aloud the text he was typing back to Ahnn. “Bitch…no way…you’re lucky….bring me…a cherry soda on your way back…tell your sis to get her shit…together. El-em-ay-oh. Sent.”

Julian didn’t say anything back.

Jackson went back to whistling.

“I made it back to the practice, did you know?” Jackson asked not even a minute after he got tired of whistling. “I had to write a Spanish sentence like a billion times and I have to hand it in to Mr. Castro today so he can take my ass out of detention. Coach Breggings said I was still on thin ice cause I’ve been fucking up in the season so far, but I think I’m gonna be alright in the end. Still yet to hear back from Dresden Beach State to see if they want me to play for them, though. Maybe if I—“

“Can we please be quiet?” Julian blurted out. He wasn’t vicious about it and instead sounded like he was pleading, even though he could already feel himself getting annoyed.

“Sure, if that’s what you want,” Jackson nodded, kicking a stray pebble on their path.

He didn’t say anything else for five minutes.

Five minutes.

“Are you mad because your mom said we step together?”

All things considered, Julian had no idea how the hell he was supposed to answer that question without fumbling and nearly tripping on his own two feet. Surely, he could have had more grace as the question suddenly slapped him right across the face, but after his mother had planted a seed of doubt him earlier, he didn’t stand a chance.

Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think.

“I’m…not,” Julian managed to say.

Jackson examined him carefully. He was quiet for a few moments as they walked past the line of morning vendors near the town square. The murmur of noise was still present in the air, but still. Jackson was quiet. A miracle admits the bubbling turmoil.

“Yeah, but you kind of are? You’ve been ignoring me all this time. And you were mad back at your house cause you blew up on your mom for even suggesting it.”

Julian bit his lip and kept his gaze forward, focusing on the outstretch of small apartments beginning to line the street. They were getting near Jackson’s house. It was only a matter of minutes before they arrived. Just minutes.

“No, I didn’t,” Julian declared. He pulled the fabric of his long sleeve over his fingers and began picking at the loose strings over the hem. “You weren’t even there. You don’t know what happened.”

“I could hear what happened. Shit, even people in America could probably hear the two of your arguing about us fucking.”

Hm. Well, that was one way to catalog Julian’s dreads and desires.

His heart kicked into overdrive. The heat in the back of his neck suddenly felt unbearable.

“Why would you say it like that?” Julian said before he could help himself. “Don’t you—Christ, do you have to be so vulgar about everything all of the time?”

“Vulgar about what? I’m just asking you a questions and you’re freaking out,” Jackson countered. He was struggling to keep up with Julian’s sudden kick in his walking pace. “Julian, seriously? You’re offended because I just said you and I fucked?”

“Stop saying it like that! Oh my god, it’s that all you ever think about?”

“Us fucking?” Jackson said. He didn’t sound crass, which was a miracle given the topic of the conversation.

Don’t think.

Julian held his tongue back and did his best not to get agitated. He knew the ramifications of any potential outbursts. He wasn’t stupid, even as the desire to just blurt it all out swelled up inside him. He knew he would never have the guts to act on instincts.

If Jackson was built from noise, Julian was built from compressed awe.

Julian was always wondering how and why, but he was always so quiet about it.

“You’re unbelievable. Why do you always—always have to make things so… so indecent?” Julian asked. He still refused to look at Jackson. “I wish we could have just one conversation where you didn’t blurt our things that made me uncomfortable—“

“Fine! That’s all you had to say. That you’re uncomfortable! I don’t get why it’s such a big deal now since I’ve always talked like this, but whatever,” Jackson dismissed. “If you want your precious silence, you got it, Julian. Have all the fucking silence in the world.”

That would have been the end of it, but Jackson could only ravel in silence for so long until he dug his feet back into conversation.

Julian’s skin was already boiling. He had wanted not to think about everything, because for the past few weeks that’s all that he had been doing—thinking: thinking of Jackson while he slept, while he worked on homework, while he listened to music, while he touched himself. It was all too much and now he didn’t know how to shut the noise. Julian was stuffed to the brim with the noise and he was losing himself and it was there that he realized just how scared he was of it all he stood at the end of the Kim’s driveway.

He felt the rush of consternation eat at him full force.

“Do you ever shut up for even a second?!” Julian shouted across the driveway as Jackson was about to mount the porch stairs of his home. “All the time, you’re always talking and saying stupid shit and acting every little thing is a joke to you or that it doesn’t matter! How could you be so damn loud all of the time and so freaking careless?!—do you just love hearing yourself talk?!”

Jackson looked back at him, eyes wide. His jaw clenched. His mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything back.

Not just yet.

He took a few steps back towards Julian. And then he laughed. Cold and bitter. Just like Julian’s mom had laughed this morning.

“You and Ahnn—I swear,” he shook his head.

“What?” Julian asked through uneven breaths. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“Just say it. You know you’re going to anyway.”

Jackson never geld his tongue back, so this was a golden opportunity for him. “You both act—“

“Don’t talk about Ahnn. I’m nothing like him—“

“Oh, please! You both act like you’re always so caring and shit, but then when it comes back around, you expect the world to bend over backwards and tend to your ever little needs. Like—like I’m supposed to just magically assume that something is bothering you when you don’t even have the courage to say anything—“

“Are you seriously right now?!” Julian clenched his first at his sides. “You’re one to talk. You’re the one who is always so closed off and acting like nothing is wrong.”

“Because nothing is wrong!” Jackson shouted back at him. Beside them, a hurdle of stray dogs began barking against the sudden burst of noise. “How many times do I have to tell you this: I don’t need help—“

“Does your dad hit you?”

What a stupid question. Julian cringed at the way those words sat sourly over his tongue as he yelled at Jackson.

He’s suddenly brought back to years ago (to Jackson Kim Before) where Julian had promised not to talk about because it had only happened once. Jackson has expressed that profoundly well. It had only happened once. His father had bruised the side of his hip, but it had been an accident. Is that how those moments occurred? Through accidents that only happened once?

Julian wasn’t supposed to talk about it.

He felt his chest getting heavier. “I shouldn’t have brought that up…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m just talking and the fight with my mom got me really upset—“

“Are you gay?” Jackson spat out.

Another stupid question.

A stupid, stupid, cruel question.

Julian felt chills run down his back, felt his heart drop, felt lightheaded. He didn’t—he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about this. He wasn’t—“I…I’m,” he tried to speak, but he couldn’t for the words. Shit, he felt the heated embarrassment spreading over his cheeks. He felt his eyes watering with the fear, the shame, the disgusting truth of it all. “Why…w-why would you ask me that?”

Jackson’s eyes had gone dark. He had outgrown his brassy tone and was now livid. “Because we’re just shouting things we’re curious about, aren’t? So, tell me, are you gay?”

“You shouldn’t—“

“Yeah, maybe. But, I saw the way you looked at me this morning. I’m not fucking stupid, Julian. So, why don’t you answer the question?”

Julian stammered. He took a step back, but Jackson has gotten up to his face and there was no use in averting his leaded glare. “That’s…I don’t,” he swallowed hard, running a hand over his hair and failing to register his need to compose himself. “Why are you being this hurtful? I don’t get it. I said I was sorry and now you’re attacking me because—”

Then, Jackson kissed him.

It was all so fast and messy and too sudden.

Julian felt the heat of Jackson’s hands as they cupped his cheeks and forced their lips together—

And it was awful. Revolting how much Julian wanted to let himself go and bare his nerves to Jackson. To show him every little reason that kept him up at night, that taunted his every waking and unconscious thought. But, this was all a brutal joke.

A god damn joke.

“Get off of me,” Julian shoved him away. His hands trembled so bad as he dug fists into the fabric of Jackson’s T-shirt and planted distance between the two of them. He felt the tears in his eyes just brimming around his waterline, but didn’t allow himself to cry. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he didn’t even meet Jackson’s eyes when he added, “Stay the hell away from me.”

There was nothing to be said after that. Or maybe there was too much to be said, but regardless, Julian stumbled out of the Kim’s driveway and took off for school. The drumming in his chest was so loud, he wasn’t sure whether he was imagining Jackson calling his name or not.

-

When Julian got to school, he went straight to first period and couldn’t stop himself from crying. Even though he had opted for a seat in the back of the classroom and his English Literature professor was playing a Shakespearean tragedy on the cheap projector under dimmed lights.

It wasn’t much, his crying.

As soon as Julian caught it, he forced himself to stop.

No one noticed. Not even Ahnn, who had briefly ran into Julian during the break between second and third period.

Ahnn didn’t even say anything to him.

Of course, he didn’t. He was still mad at Julian.

Julian wanted to yell at him too, but he didn’t have any fight left in him for the day.


	6. Chapter 6

_JACKSON_

On day one, there was something ill still sitting over Jackson’s tongue.

Not quite souring his whole mood, but he knew, behind every single one of his passing thoughts, that he had fucked up. Massively.

Thing was, he’d rather stab his own hand than search something within himself to give light to his actions. Everything still felt fresh. His hands at his sides were still twitching with the inclination to reach (the ends of Julian’s hair still ticked his fingertips, still found ways to taunt him when he wondered, when he thought, when he realized) and find a proper story to unfold the framework of a bad kiss.

Maybe it had begun with the call home. With the screaming and the nagging and the damn silence.

Robert Kim’s strapping roars always singed the back of Jackson’s mind. Bloody cries and demands that could be considered thoughtful; a concerned parent way to yell, always. It’s what they needed to do to reprimand awful behavior. But, the call was really a welcomed incitement to give the burning in the back of his throat purpose.

Robert Kim wanted to yell and he wanted to yell at Jackson.

Okay. So, there was the yelling—the seventeen minutes to succumb to purpose and holler and bellow and punch the god damn wall, asking _why are you like this? Don’t you fucking get how embarrassing it is to hear this bullshit time and time again?_

It had been that very day, the first day they had avoided each other on purpose.

As if nothing happened.

No more small talk. Just silence. Awkward glances and shameful avoidance.

Jackson had been just fine with it. Expected even. The first day, he was still clinging to that initial bout of anger, still wondered, still thought, still realized that Julian was always so sheer with his emotions by nature. Jackson couldn’t even look at at him without wanting to walk up to him and start yelling again.

Fucking bullshit. The whole damn argument.

“Don’t forget to towel dry the plates,” Jackson’s mother instructed from across the room. Her small, grey eyes just peering behind her laptop screen.

Jackson nodded, placing the water soaked plate in his hand next to the dish rack. He had a pile growing. Shiny porcelain with specks of water. All still very wet.

It was day three now.

Jackson still felt the vexation in him lingering over his skin. But, he was getting on just fine. Nothing really had changed, honestly. Sometimes, the silence was still blaring through the back of his mind and it startled him mostly at night, but he got on well. Practice was pushing his limits, maybe a little much, but he wanted the distraction. He wanted to be yelled at, to be constantly surrounded by noise so that he didn’t stand still for even a second.

On day three, Jackson did something he knew didn’t and had never described his character.

Talk to his mother on purpose.

Talking to his mother was always something. Always a tumultuous risk because while she was reserved and loved to be secluded in the clangor of her own ideas and typing, she also held Jackson’s brassy tongue and didn’t appreciate being challenged.

The Kims really did love to pretend they weren’t Kims right down to their bustling chest, burning throats, and inscrutable brains.

Jackson hated how much he exhibited from both his mother and father.

“Jackson, come on. Wash then dry,” His mother urged once more. Her voice wasn’t urgent, however.  


Her interest of the topic at hand had vanished at the turn of a second. She was versatile like that. Productive and disparaging. She proceeded to continue typing away at her laptop.  


The greatest typer, his mother.

For a few minutes there was just typing. Then:

“I got into Dresden Beach State,” Jackson announced calmly as he ran another dish under the faucet’s running water. “Got the acceptance letter this afternoon. I just need to fill out some forms and then mail them back their admission’s office. They want me playing for them, too.”

More typing. Then, a brief halt.

“Playing what?” Min-See asked.

“In their soccer team. They’re pretty badass, I guess. You watched some off their games before, remember?” he said. It was useless attempt to reminder her. His mother didn’t dwell on details, she thrived for the present. Loved writing about it, too.

“That was years ago, back when I was still interning in college sports during my first season at the Gosspi Gazette,” she clarified. Her typing stopped for a moment, but then sped up as soon as a soft gasp left her lips.

A spark of inspiration.

Brief, the spark was. She was looking up at Jackson after a few seconds. “Besides, you can’t go to Dresden Beach. We opted out of the tax break for you. You’re going to Tinsley U.”

Jackson let the plate in his hand drop into the sink. The water still running, sloshing in and out of the pile of dirty dishes.

The loud clink startled Min-See behind the laptop; her eyes gazed at him and it felt like her world was opening up for the first time in the past two hours. She had eaten dinner like that, hands glued to the keys and eyes wandering back and forth between her kimchi rice and the left over truths of the Stephen Soh case.  


Back and forth. As always. There was never an interlude that brought up anything honest in her. Her honesty bled only in her trade, in her bold and loaded words. She was always half-truths with Jackson.  


He loved the half-truths, the majority of the time.

But now wasn’t the time to toe the line of half-truths. 

“When did I say I wanted to go to Tinsley U?”

“You didn’t have to. It was a unanimous decision—”

“I never agreed.”

“Your father and I agreed it was best. You’ve no business being so far away from home.”

“Dad doesn’t care. Why would he care where I go as long as I’m gone? And why would you assume I wan to go to Tinsley U?”

A narrowed glare from the writer. “You’re not going to Dresden Beach. And your father doesn’t want you gone, don’t be absurd. Speaking ill of him is not going to help your case.”

That was very much debatable. Jackson wanted to remind her of her ever present silence through all of the damn yelling in the house. The only ever truth that was never halved. “I don’t want to go to Tinsley U. Their…That’s where all of the lazy shits and dumbasses go after they get rejected everywhere else,” he said. “No one wants to go to Tinsley U. Not even the dumbasses that end up going.”

When Jackson turned around to fully face her. There was something tentative settling over her expression. “What a shallow way to see things, Jackson. You shouldn’t judge something based solely on what other’s are saying. Tinsley U is a great school, one of the top ones here in Tinsley—“

“That’s not saying much.”

The heaviness around the room suddenly sat over Jackson’s shoulders. A gush of regret tightened around his lungs. He shouldn’t have mentioned anything. His mother wasn’t even surprised, just bothered that the discussion was probably taking away from her time. She bared no weight. How was she even real with the little human reciprocity she offered others?

This was an issue for Jackson, but it was a simple writing break for her. Something to let time past before the next wave of inspiration struck Min-See.

When she didn’t say anything, he proceeded to add: “What do you mean about this ‘tax break’? Mom, what the fuck?”  


“The district you want to go to has an added tax for students who are out of region,” she explained briefly, leaning back in her chair and stretching. Relaxed. She was fluidly languish and unbothered. “I know this may come as a shock to you, but your father and I don’t have that high of an income to ship you up north just you can play soccer. You can play soccer here while you get your schooling done. Your papa will be proud of you either way.”  


She loved feeding Papa into any argument against him.

Jackson’s grandfather had lived so many years. A lot of those years, more prominently his last few years left on earth, he lived for Jackson. Adored the kid and told him he was was some sort of star with a universe of success in the future. Said Dresden Beach was his starting point, the nebula buzzing towards the birth of a star.

Jackson had believed him when he was little. Maybe he still did sometimes. It’s was hard to tell after so many years.  


_Your papa will be proud of you anyway_. What a bullshit way to manifest composure in the kitchen.

Jackson breathed in. He tried to swallow through the ever expanding heat, but he felt it burning right through his chest and neck. “That’s not the point. The point is I applied—I even spoke to their sports rep. And he said I had a chance. I have a chance now. They want me there—”  


“We want you here,” she told him. A little finality to her voice. “We can’t afford—“

“It’s a scholarship. I don’t need your money.”  


“Yes, you do. The tuition might be paid for, but the rooming costs are a nightmare there. And that’s not even taking into account your textbook costs and the cost of living day to day in general. Your cousin Polly was enrolled there for a semester and now she has student debts. Hundreds— no, thousands just piling every year because she’s unable to pay it all off. Did you know she wipes table at some country Inn in Severm now?”  


“I’ll work part time. Full time if have to. As long as I’m there—”

“Is that really what you want? Working long hours just to get by in paying for a small shoebox apartment just so that you can run around in a field and take the same courses you can take in a college here in Tinsley?” She had asked instantly, as soon as she had outlined Jackson’s stammering. Her tone was sharper as she proceeded to list said colleges nearby. _A bus or a train ride away won’t drown your wallet. A six hour commute to an uptown district will._  


“I don’t care. I still want to go.”

Then, Min-See Kim delivered her biggest half-truth her she could spit right out of her busy mind.

“Well, take a look around where you are. Then, look at it again and this time, get used to the idea of having to take second looks everywhere you set foot in Tinsley,” she said. “You may not like the roots that allowed you to grow here, Jackson. But you’ll find out very soon that uprooting isn’t something anybody can just do.”

_That’s what I did. And done over the years_. Jackson could hear her adding in her self-preserved tone. Direct and ambivalent.

Jackson left it at that. Walked away to the soundtrack of his mother’s typing. There wasn’t much to add because what ever energy still remained in him to keep speaking was washed away with the sound of the front door opening. To the reveal of Robert Kim coming home for the night.

-

On day four, practice had been hell.

There was expectation, something Jackson loved to thrive on, but he wasn’t meeting the team halfway and it showed.

Maybe it was the noise. Or the lack of motivation eating at him through every harsher breath he forced himself to swallow. Or the fact that he wasn’t really up to caring about anything that particular day.

Either way, he was shit and it showed.

“I’ve said this before and I’ll say it to your face now that you’re almost out of my hair and I don’t gotta deal with you anymore,” Coach Breggings had said after the locker room had cleared out and he had finished skinning Jackson’s drawbacks in front of the entire team. “You’ve got heart, kid. Use that to keep yourself going. Don’t let yourself becoming wasted potential just because someone tells you no.”

“It it’s a no, then it’s a no,” Jackson had replied, sulking as he tied his shoelaces with too much force. “Don’t know what else I can do about it.”

Jackson had lied and told him he had been rejected by Dresden Beach State. Perhaps as to an attestation to his raging inadequacy that day. Or maybe he just wanted a little bit of sympathy after being yelled and glared by the entire team. Maybe he was in search of hope that his coach was trying to instill in him, but Jackson just felt unworthy.

Coach Briggins sighed as he rubbed his temples. “You’re a great player, Kim. One of the best ones I’ve seen in a long time. The only problem with you—and it’s the problem I’ve been dealing with you for the past four years—is that you don’t care enough about anything to actually do what you want to do. Just because you’re a good player doesn’t mean that life is gonna go easy on you and give you all you need to keep being great. You’re gonna have to put up a fight to get what you want, if it’s what you really want.”

Ahnn had been a little bit more uneasy with the concept of rejection. He hesitated before saying anything to Jackson. “Ah, well that’s some shitty luck,” he finally said to an empty field. In his hand, he twirled around the last sip of what looked like muddy iced coffee from the 7Eleven down the street.

“Shitty indeed, my man,” Jackson agreed. “Guess I’ll be stuck spit shining shoes at the town center for a fiver just like all of the other Tinsley U losers.”

Stupidly, he wanted to believe there was still some hope that he was going away to Dresden Beach, but knowing what he was and wasn’t capable of, he knew he couldn’t bare enough of the required persistence to move six hours away and expect things to just fall into place.

He couldn’t bring himself to care that much.

Ahnn maybe thought the same thing. Some deeper, more introspective part of him. “I think you could still do your pre-courses here and then transfer out to Dresden Beach, you know? I know some people do that sometimes. Save up for two, three years and move out of this place. Find themselves a nice spot next to the beach.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not meant to be after all. Maybe I belong in a penguin suit with a picket fence and a nice wife and seven kids I can’t afford to feed,” Jackson admitted as he closed his eyes. He fell back on the moist grass beneath him. Felt the back of his jersey trail a line of cold spots in his shoulder blades. “What are you even doing here anyway? Can’t remember the last time I saw you after school.”

The sun was heavy over the skyline; mustard yellows and pink skies decorated the last remaining flickers of light.

Ahnn sipped on his shitty coffee. “I got work in a couple of hours. It makes no sense going back home and then having to leave to get to the strawberry fields,” he explained, shrugging. “Besides, I kinda missed watching you tear up the field like you love doing. You sucked ass today, though. All things considered.”

All things considered. Jackson wasn’t even offended. “I’m too tired to tell you off,” he laughed with no real kick. “Ahnn, what the fuck are we even doing anymore?”

That made Ahnn laugh. A short, breathy release with no real emotion. Mimicking Jackson. “Honestly, I have no idea. I’m tired all of the damn time and…money seems to be a big issue now. I don’t know, it feels like time is moving so fast and but also super slow? Three of us are fighting a lot, too. I’ve noticed.”

“We’re too different, maybe,” Jackson offered. Behind his closed eyes, he could make out splotches of red and orange warmth. He thought about Julian. About how he liked to sometimes wait for Jackson to finish practice so they can buy snacks at the 7Eleven and walk home together. They hadn’t done that in a while. Probably not any time soon.

“Maybe we are too different. I still like you guys, though. You’ve just made it really hard to this past year,” Ahnn agreed. He tossed his empty plastic cup out into the field, which was flung back towards him by the pesky evening winds. “I talked to Elise about Mr. Pae’s car. Brought it up casually during work. She told me her brother took it back for some reason. Which really blows because I actually had a plan to get it back.”  


“Ahnn The Man with A Plan,” Jackson poked his side. Felt his friend squirm under his touch. “Let’s be real here, we ain’t getting that car back and from what I’ve heard, Mrs. Pae is on a bloody rampage. Did you know Julian told her I beat his ass and you’ve been hogging the car?”

“Wait, you got in a fight with Julian?”

Jackson knew what he meant, but he still hesitated to answer. “Um—no. No, I didn’t. I’m saying that he said I—him and I, that we got into a fight and that’s why he was all fucked up in the face and shit. God, Ahnn, keep up will you?”

“Okay. So, you got into a fight with him and I took the car?”

“Yeah, I guess if you put it like that it still makes sense.”

“Jesus. No way?”

“Mhm.”

“I didn’t peg him for a liar, really. But, even at that, he sounds like’s quite an awful one.”

“Julian’s such a…” Jackson didn’t finish. Instead, he allowed for the blaring shrill of a car horn down the street fill the silence.

Ahnn pondered the silence, picking the some grass and nurturing a small pile on the middle of Jackson’s stomach he had begun building. “He’s too much of himself, I think. I love Julian, okay? But like I said, sometime I see him and I wonder just how much of himself he’s truly showing us. Like, how many sides can a person have before it becomes confusing? I don’t know if I’m making sense, but sometimes I feel like the only side he’s showing is so unassertive and stupid.”

_You and Ahnn always think I’m…stupid and don’t notice things, but I do_, Jackson heard Julian’s somber tone in the back of his mind. Heard the slight lull of apprehension.

Something awful settled in the pit of Jackson’s stomach.

“I wonder what you really think of me when I’m not around, you asshole,” he jeered at Ahnn, lifting his hand to his stomach and flicking the small pile of grass.

In that moment, he thought about spitting out _I kissed him_. _I kissed him. I kissed him. _He thought about the way Ahnn’s expression would fall, about the questions that would follow. The conversations they could have.

Jackson didn’t say anything else.

Jackson offered to walk Ahnn to the bus stop. The bustling noise of the evening traffic decorated their silence as they roamed the sidewalk. Beside them, the moon was hanging low in the sky, inching closer and closer to the center. The cold breeze was gripping Jackson’s shoulders tight, made him feel a little weightless. Calm.

“Hey, you going to that party on Friday, by the way?” Ahnn asked as they reached the bus stop. “Some rich snooty fucks from uptown are throwing it in one of the background houses near the uptown border. Should be a nice time.”

“I might. I really need to get fucked up cause this past week has been…weird,” Jackson told him. “And the game is gonna be shit, I just know it.”

“Shut up, you’re gonna be great. Who are you guys playing against?”

“Princeton Academy. We’ve beat them before, but they’ve gotten faster. More tactile. Think it’s their new coach or something,” Jackson leaned against the bus stop’s light box that advertised scrotum massages. “Are you going? Or are you going to be busy working and fucking your co-worker?”

“When am I not busy working or fucking?” Ahnn replied, the cheeky bastard. “You should go, though. To the party, I mean. Julian won’t be there so we can let lose a little. Like old times.”

Jackson knew that last dig was regarding their previous party endeavors, but he couldn’t help but to register it back to four days ago.

To Julian’s silence and everything that followed after that. To the way everything just felt drowned out in Jackson’s mind; senseless and unbearable.

“Yeah, I’ll probably go,” he told Ahnn.

-

Jackson didn’t run because he enjoyed it.  


He ran for the discomfort, for the noise in his chest, the static in his mind. He ran because he couldn’t take a noiseless walk without thinking too deeply into what awaited him beneath the surface.  


His routine consisted of a uniformity that allowed him to move forward (to run, and run fast) and not mind the smaller details so much.  


A SMALL DETAIL: Whenever he arrived home from school, he toed off his shoes, glanced around the empty, disgusting space that his father had cultivated for the past decade, and then he headed for his bedroom up stairs to watch TV.

Volume all the way up.  


Then, he’d put some music on when the dingy old TV connection began to falter. To save from the inconsistency of being surrounded by clangor, Jackson would put on some music. The fast, thumping bass of a hip hop song. The foul words and slick beats drummed in his chest as he moved on to play video games in his computer.  


So. There was the faulty TV.

The obscene hip hop song.  


And The incessant blasts from the video game.

Together, the three urged and shepherded Jackson to focus on his routine of never stopping to think and fall victim to his worries. What worries did he even have? He knew they were minuscule compared to others—not that he’d ever both long enough to prove it—which is why he always said he didn’t care.

_He didn’t care_—If he could shout it from a roof tops he would.

He didn’t care about his problems.  


A BIGGER DETAIL: Growing up, he would always stumble on his feet and end up meeting the ground more times than his father’s fist met the plaster walls of his house. This thus classified him into a category of a boy with a toothy grin, a knack for spitting at birds, and wobbly legs—and a god damn chatter box.   


His first friend was in fifth grade. Some white kid visiting from America with rosy cheeks and hair the color of piss. They didn’t exactly get along and fought a lot for two boys who were supposed to be tamed. But the American boy (what even was his name? Oliver? Oscar?) always whined about having to run across the play yard to beat the summer heat and the long lines at the student shop.

Instead, he paid Jackson a whole fiver just to run to the student shop and buy him his mid day snack.  


Of course, Jackson agreed to run.

Of course, he’d trip and land on the bag of lemon flavored chips every time. He’d always return back to the American boy with a saggy bag of crumbs. “You idiot! This ain’t even chips anymore!” he’d tell Jackson, who had already stuffed his fiver bill in his back pocket and honestly didn’t give a fuck.  


Of course, they fought about that. But, Jackson still continued to run back and forth from the student shop to the American boy. Crummy chips every now and then. Until he got a little faster, then the chips were crispy inside the bag.

But, then the American got stingy and said no more fivers. Just do him a solid be because they were friends, he’d try to tell Jackson.

Hell no. No way. Jackson didn’t run for nothing.  


So, they fought about that too. This time, it was on the concrete playground with the entire fifth grade class chanting _Fight! Fight! Fight!_ And Jackson really didn’t know how to, but he still threw the first punch and proceeded to land himself a prime spot in the nurses office with a wonky, bruised eye.

The stupid American really knew how to fight.

That day, sat in the chairs lining the left wall of the nurses office, Jackson met Julian Pae. Pink haired and pink cheeks and full lips. He’d, too, had lost a fight. Well, not really a fight if you don’t throw your fist in the air, right? Jackson had told him that and Julian—soft spoken and still a little shaky, agreed.  


Yeah, it’s not a fight if you don’t fight back.

-

“I’ve got a game today,” Jackson’s voice lifted into the room. He felt it a little strange, the way it echoed in his throat. The way it might have been laced with a bit of hope. “If you both want to come and watch. It’s the semi-finals. If we win we get to move to the finals in Hiven next month.”

There it was. Maybe the hope was bigger and brighter than he had anticipated when he first began speaking.

Maybe it was the fact that it was the fifth day and he still felt like he hadn’t spoken to a single soul all week.

Surely it was fleeting. Neither of his parents were much for attending the home games, much less the away games which were always disregarded as far too messy and full of noise and unfamiliarity. Min-see detested trying to figure out where and how to get anywhere. She always wanted to already know. A fact which hindered her previous statements utter bullshit because she knew where the high school was, knew how to locate the sports field easily enough.

It soon became apparent that it was not a matter of direction, but of negligence that she dearly clung to whenever that question hung in the air around her. _Will you be going to my game? My game is this week, do you think you’ll be stopping by? The game starts later, so if you go after work you might catch the end of it?_

Jackson’s father thrived on negligence, too.

The morning sun was illuminating the kitchen, giving light to the steaming cup of coffee resting at the corner of the table. As always, there was a murmur of the radio news filling the background, giving the Kims something to listen to so as not to dwell too much into their own thoughts.

They didn’t talk about it, but they were all thankful for the noise. Always.

“No,” Min-see blurted out. Her readers hung low at the tip of her small button nose. Her eyes glanced briefly at Jackson, who sat across from her in the kitchen table. She cleared her throat, shuffling the stack of papers before her. “I mean, I can’t. I’ve got a deadline to meet on Monday and I’m already behind on large portion of my copy. Besides, I have a meeting at the Court House that I really can’t miss. Robert?”

Robert Kim sat to their right. A broad shouldered man with sharp cheekbones and heavy, heavy bags over his eyes. He didn’t look up from the Gosspi Gazette as he offhandedly shook his head. Muttered, “Not a chance.”

For a failed writer, Jackson’s father didn’t really have many words to say nowadays.

He yelled mostly.

“Your friends will be there, right?” Min-see asked a few minutes later when the radio batteries ran out. In its place, she began tapping the end of her red pen against the table.

“Oh, yeah definitely,” Jackson nodded. He didn’t bother looking back at her when he felt her gaze linger over the side of his face for a brief moment.

He wasn’t counting on it.

-

“Jackson? Hello…?”  


It had been a quiet voice at first, but the burst of irk followed almost immediately. Miss Greenly wasn’t strict where it counted, but had an odd repulsion for sleeping in class. Her blue, wrinkling eyes were hauntingly dark with indignation.

With her over-dyed black hair, straggly on its ends like dead tree branches from a horror film, she slammed a textbook at the edge of Jackson’s desk.

He awoke with a slam three inches from his head.

Yes. She, too, was not fond of Jackson Kim.  


“Jackson!”

Jackson wasn’t startled, because he had been mostly resting his eyes and just had barely lulled into sleep when she had noticed him. He was, however, petrified to come face to face with the heavy-lidded eyes of James Choi. The same average height boy with used-to-be blue hair and fucking stars in his eyes.

Now, with frizzy brown hair and a bright pink denim jacket, frown slack over his mouth.  


Just sitting there, glaring back at Jackson, this James Choi kid.  


“Ew,” Jackson huffed out. He looked between James and Miss Greenly. Both mops of hair shook with disapproval at his ballsy gall. “I mean…nope. Not him,” he tried to supply, but the remiss failed him greatly.

“No excuses_,” _said the teacher. So very indignantly, whilst some kids behind her played catch with the synthetic babies. It was truly a marvel how she functioned as an authority figure, always capitalizing on the inconsequential details. “Seeing as Ms. Wong decided she wanted to part ways with you in short notice, James here will be your new partner for the baby assignment.”  


Right. The baby assignment.  


And quite a baby Jackson had landed himself. If you could even call it that.

“What…in the fuck is that?” Jackson asked, brows furrowed as he eyed the small stuffed animal tossed in the center of his desk. A pink, rabbit beanie baby.

“Our child,” James responded bluntly as the tips of his fingers tapped the stuffed animal, smushing it into the desk. A second later, the poor thing toppled over. “Greenly said we had to make do with it. She ran out of the real babies.”

“Didn’t realize the babies were real,” Jackson muttered, poking their pink rabbit child with the tip of his pencil. “Should’ve sold mine when I still had the chance.”

As it turned out, Macy Wong (Jackson’s first wife), had opted for divorce a mere twenty-four hours after their marriage had take full effect during yesterday’s class. She had cited against Jackson’s sluggishness and callousness towards their child. Their fake, shit-taking, black baby.

Obviously it was all received with slight shock. Jackson had made out with Macy at the last party they had been to. And while they both might have been a little gone, she had been an easy choice for the assignment at first. Just like at the party, she was very willing.

Julian would’ve been first pick, but he had opted to partnering up with one of the Hilney triplets. The one with the neck tattoo that smelled like cabbage.  


Today was the fifth day they hadn’t spoken to each other.

Now, remarried and obviously caught in the midst of a contentious foundation, Jackson and James’s new child didn’t stand a chance.

”Lets hope our child doesn’t develop your god awful attitude,” James told Jackson as he proceeded to fill out the birth certificate print out. Geoff Choi Kim, he had named the stuffed animal. Geoff. James bled out eccentricity and quite honestly, Jackson want to bother understanding it.  


“As long as he has a big dick like his daddy, he’ll get by just fine in society,” Jackson told him.

Around them, the entire classroom buzzed with chatter. Happy families and whatnot crammed into the desks. The whining synthetic babies hanging upside down with unclasped diapers. No one really cared for them. Or for the class for that matter.  


The faint, radio static cries from the babies could have been louder, but the teenage disregard was loudest apparently.

Julian was laughing across the room. Head knocked back as he listened to whatever the cabbage smelling neck girl was telling him through frantic hand movements. She wasn’t that funny, Jackson noted. He had met the other two triplets and found they all not only shared the same face but the same stench and lack of congeniality. So, obviously Julian was clearly fooling himself into a momentary distraction.

Or maybe that’s how Julian just was.

Benevolent and stupidly naive.

Jackson wondered whether Julian would reply if he texted him right then—

Jackson felt a small object hit the side of his cheek and roll down into his lap. James has thrown in to catch his attention, a chip off of his ice cream shaped eraser. When Jackson finally looked back at the boy, he was met with impatience and yet again, a slacking frown.  


“I can see why your old wife left you,” James said, handing over the birth certificate for Jackson to sign. When he signed is as Big Daddy, James rolled his eyes. “You’re such a shit. This is for a grade, so just play along. What are you even staring at anyway?”

“Nothing.” Jackson begrudgingly erased Big Daddy and signed his real name over the certificate. He had suggested James to just sign as Little Daddy, but that conversation ultimately didn’t go very far.

“Aye! What’s up Jackson Kimberly! So, you guys ready for the party after the game tongith?” Caleb, a scrawny third year with a knack for smacking his gum and ignoring personal space had slowly inched his way into Jackson and James’ desk.

See, Caleb wasn’t annoying when he was at a distance, mostly. He had a nice charm about it, but his desperation to make sales basically leaked out of him. His weed business had taken a knee the last few weeks, apparently. “Supposed to wild and shit. Full of hot girls and pretty boys. Them Princeton hags are the best, am I right? Get fucked by the rich and live to tell the tale.”

He held his hand up top for a high five near James, who simply started back at him and warned Caleb to get away from him.  


“If there’s free booze then count me in,” Jackson said. “The perfect post-game pick me up.”

“You play?” James asked. He was now shielding either Geoff or their worksheet from Caleb’s wandering eyes. Probably both.

Caleb clapped his large, sweaty hand over Jackson’s shoulder. “Yeah, dude! Best forward in fuckin’ Errolan. Aren’t ya, Jackie?” He said, flashing a grin to James, who was barely impressed by the revelation.

“Yeah, what he said,” Jackson said.

Then, he saw Julian getting up from his seat.

He was wearing one of his oversized sweaters. A red one Jackson didn’t recognize. It clashed awfully with his pink hair and the darkness underneath his eyes didn’t exactly add much appeal.

Caleb kept speaking, going on about some party favors going around about some girl called Skinny B, which had in turn gotten James to contribute more profusely to the conversation. Meanwhile, Jackson felt the murmur of noise from them, but his attention was stuck on Julian as he calmly made his way over towards them.

Jackson’s heart began to pound in his chest. He felt a little faint and witless for picking up on the situation with such a weak temperament. He thought about what he wanted to say to him, but found himself lost on words. So much sat over his mind suddenly, he didn’t know where to begin.

Hell, he didn’t even know if he should just blurt out sorry because he still wasn’t sure if he was sorry or not.

Fuck, had it really been five days since they spoke?

Then, Julian rounded to corner, passing the three boys talking about some Skinny B person, picked up the bathroom pass that hung next to the door and calmly exited the room.

There were no words.

Nothing.  


Had he even looked over at Jackson?  


“Well, believe it or not, my prices are a lot lower than Skinny B’s, Jimmy Boy. Don’t be suckered into the high demand market by someone as vapid as Skinny,” Caleb went on, now resting his elbow comfortably over Jackson’s desk. Situated and shit, as if he belonged to their group. “But seriously, come to me if you see me there, yeah? I’ll take care of you and so will my fantastic weed. I promise you, pretty.”

“Don’t call me pretty,” James told him sharply, motioning the scrawny white boy to keep moving along. “And we’ll see. Cause she charges a shitload and you Tinsley people are shady as fuck—Ew, don’t touch me.” Caleb’s hand flung forward to gently tap James’ cheek for only a second. Another second later, James slapped his wandering hand away with one swift motion.

After Jackson finally told Caleb to fuck off, he turned to James, the co-father of their child, their pink rabbit beanie baby, their Geoff. “You got some weed right now?”

James patted the left side of his breast pocket, beaming. The stars in his eyes lit up. “Hell yeah,” he said.  


-

THE FRAMEWORK OF A BAD KISS:

It had begun with a simple plea. Jackson resorted to those quite often as his home life lacked a little appeal. More commonly now rather than before, back when his father was employed at some publishing company at the edge of the uptown border—a good forty-five minute commute.  


An hour and a half there and back.  


A blissful hour and a half indeed.

Jackson didn’t say he needed to get away from the seething silence that Robert Kim inflicted in the house. He expected the leniency of his friendships to just budge at his request. Every time. It had always been difficult for him to just come out and voice it, the exertion of living in a household where someone held a tight fist over his biggest fears.  


He had told Julian about it once, in a moment of weakness.

It would be something he would regret for the following months and years. He knew he was overstepping his comfort, the shield he had cultivated over so many years, but he was so sad that day. He was hurting bad, too.  


Julian had stared back at Jackson. His eyes a little wide, but his face had remained relaxed in the presence of the nasty bruise over the front of Jackson’s shoulder. It was still red, still lined with little scratches from the tight fist and fury of Robert Kim.

Julian had reached over with a tentative hand and touched the surface of Jackson’s skin. He’d asked why and how and Jackson has just shrugged and couldn’t bring himself to talk, but Julian knew. He probably had always known because Jackson’s father had never taken very well to Jackson’s friends. He’d refer to them as the street rats whenever they came over and they were present in his line of fire.  


It took one time for Ahnn to be called a rat for him to never step foot in the house again, but Julian still came around either way. Less often, but still at Jackson’s request.  


Jackson must have sounded really desperate back then. Maybe he still does. After all, Julian had easily fallen desperate for the Jackson’s ever persistent pleas. Especially that day—that night, when he had asked Jackson to come over through the phone.  


To talk. To make noise. Maybe even sleep if they were lucky.  


That should have been the end of it because they used to do that and do it often. The late night calls and the banter that kept their relationship alit. But, the way Julian looked at him that fucking night. It was overflowing with something aching close to admiration. God, but it felt so much more deeper than that. In that moment, at night and laying right next to each other as the moonlight just set Julian’s thoughts ablaze with just one look.  


Jackson wondered for the very first time: what if I kissed him?  


Jackson’s mouth never stopped moving, for his thoughts were running wild and there was so much crowding in his head that night. And Robert Kim’s fist still outlined his spine, down below where he didn’t have to move to feel it but it was there; a nasty red blotch.

It hadn’t been on impulse, the punch. It had been a response to defiance, to something Jackson was so, so good at doing.

Jackson noticed the rise and fall of Julian’s chest.

He studied the way his eyes were heavy with sleep but still glistening with desire. Julian had never been, still isn’t and most likely will never be a human of instinct; he tiptoed on his passions and called himself insightful instead.  


_What if I kissed him_, Jackson wondered that night for what felt like the hundredth time that night. But the urge to find out never quite lifted from him, not even as sleep was slowly crawling over him. He was a selfish bastard for thinking this—for fantasizing about the way Julian would react to one simple kiss. A simple, inane gesture. Would it incite fear in him? Or deepen the forsaken longing that appeared scared over his every movement, every word and breath?  


Was it just Jackson that brought this out of him? Who the hell did Julian think he was anyway? Blinking up at Jackson with eyes that spoke so many truths out of him. He should have known this wasn’t natural, that this wasn’t them. They weren’t those kinds of kids who laughed and touched with feelings. They were suppose to be friends, not two boys who looked at each other like the world was burning and wanted to keep each other sheltered.  


It wasn’t meant to be like this.

It shouldn’t be like this.

Jackson didn’t obsess over the way Julian would taste, but of the way he would react.  


And when it happened. The kiss.

It was a bad one. It was all in the reaction.  


Misaligned and wrong.  


Oh, yes. A very bad first kiss.  


-

It was still the fifth day, but it felt more like the sixth and seventh day with the clusterfuck of nuisances that had occurred over the span of a single evening.

The team had lost the game against Princeton.

No one was in a state of mind to point fingers and fight and wonder, but Jackson was already doing half of that work himself.

It should have been a perfect night. The leftover bitter chill of winter was still present, encouraging the many viewers in the stands to huddle close, bleeding Lindley Shay’s red and gold and watching intently as they cheered on. Jackson used to thrive on this. He loved the combination of the atmosphere clinging to his senses as he ran, felt the air in his lungs expand.

The stadium lights were so bright and the grass was still a little wet with the lurking scent from the barbecues near the student center. Everything was so familiar and transient, just like Jackson had lived it for so many years. The sounds were boisterous and ringing to the drum of his chest as he ran across the field, the echo of the crowd slowly leaving him as he failed yet another pass. His chest felt on fire, fueled by the nasty, degrading blow of the whistle from Coach Breggins, ordering Jackson to take the bench.

The fucking bench.

He stood amongst the rubble of noise from his teammates as they watched him, mouths agape as the air left their lungs too—maybe someone had protested, because Jackson was still by far the best forward they had (or maybe Jackson only heard what he wanted to hear)—but the decision was established.

Jackson sat and shamefully watched from the benches, shoulders hunched and his fingers barely gripping the water bottle in his hand.

The team managed without him, but it wasn’t by much.

One goal. It wasn’t even a victory in itself, seeing as they were already behind in the scoreboard. The small second year boy who had scored cheered in vain.

Jackson’s chest still felt heavy and it felt as though his lungs were going to collapse. He could hear an uproar of applause emerging from the opposite side of the field, where all of the Princeton students and enthusiast sat. Princeton had just scored the third goal of the night. In the first quarter.

By the second quarter, the score was one to four, with Princeton leading and ultimately taking home the win.

“Nice fucking work everyone,” the team captain, Jace Walters, banged loudly on the lockers. The sound echoed throughout the sulky silence surrounding the losing team of Lindley Shay High School.

The fourth year midfielder banged his fist over the metal once more, this time a little closer to where Jackson currently sat. “Beautiful work out there. I can’t wait to see hear about those Princeton asswipes going to Hiven and probably take home the title. Hard to imagine that was us last year.”

“Cool it, Walters,” someone hissed at him. It was typically an invitation for harsher voices and for tempers to bubble, but everyone was so tired that night. Disappointed and tired. This was supposed to be their year. They were suppose to bring home the title for the third time.

Jackson was supposed to play a big part of the win.

He was supposed to be somebody tonight. And while some small part of him believed he should have been that driving force they needed out int he filed today, something larger, more menacing had crawled inside him and landed him a prime spot in possibly the worst place to be during a game instead.

The fucking bench.

This team was the only heart of the school, the only pride anybody ever talked about during casual conversation, and they couldn’t keep the suspense of the abhorrent game with a even score at any point.

It wasn’t worth it. They had lost. Jackson had lost and even though it was suppose to be a team effort and the failures of the team didn’t solely fall on his shoulders, he was going to take the loss personally. He had to. He had sat and watched time slowly tick away as everything dreadful fell right into place.

He wasn’t running. He wasn’t moving. The silence he was under was loud and he couldn’t bring himself to put up a fight and beg to be placed back in the field. He just sat—fucking sat there and took the loss.

In true Tinsley style, if they sucked, they needed to be impeccably dreadful.

And very dreadful they were.

HOW JACKSON KIM BARED LOSSES

Jackson had been drunk before, but with no real purpose behind it.

He’d drink until his eyelids were heavy, until his vision became blurred and until the pretty girl talking to him suddenly didn’t have a name. Then, he would be dragged by his friends down the road as he sang whatever song had been overplayed that summer. The night sky was suddenly vividly bright and maybe, maybe there were fireworks at one point. If there weren’t, it sure felt like there were.

Jackson would rejoice in the smell of booze and whatever liquor he’d clumsily caught his attention that night. Hugging Julian and Ahnn close to him, he’d hope they would rejoice with him. Instead, he felt their smiles and their laughter usually followed them all the way home.

Tonight, Jackson bared the biggest loss of his life with hard liquor and a splash of cola.

His lungs burned, but it felt good.

A good, mind-numbingly superb burn.

“We fucking lost!” He shouted through the bass drop of a rap song that blared through the speakers.

Around him, a sea of people were swarming the expand of the large, dusty living room. Most of them traveled in groups and migrated whenever a song would kick its way back into the air; bumping loudly and heavily so no one really had a chance to converse. Of course they had to be the Princeton crowd, boisterous as ever and beaming with pride, stuffing their mouths with expensive beer and whatever snacks still littered over the massive, dimly lit kitchen.

Well, the beer was shit and so were the snacks, but Jackson knew that wasn’t the point.

The point was to get as fucked up as humanly possible and hopefully not feel for anything for a while.

Jackson had situated himself in the corner of the living room. The only corner not occupied by a couple grinding each other, on the verge of a good fuck. Next to him, Ahnn stood with the infamous red cup in his hand, grave look on his face, as he looked back at Jackson and all of his loud, loud noise no one was going to hear any time soon.

Ahnn whispered something in his ear, but Jackson squirmed, tickled by the heat of his breath. He swatted Ahnn’s face away. It was then he realized Ahnn had asked him to repeat himself.

For some reason it made Jackson laugh. He leaned forward into Ahnn’s ear and shouted again. “We fucking lost!”

Ahnn stared back at him. Worried. “Not your fault,” he said. Jackson couldn’t hear him, but he imagined that’s what his lips had mouthed.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Okay,” he simply agreed for the sake of agreeing. He felt serene, or rather blissfully oblivious. He didn’t even care that Ahnn had missed the game. Didn’t even make it seem like it was a big deal. “I’m gonna go grab another drink. And then, I’m gonna walk around this haunted house and piss on something, probably.”

There was a brief pause of silence. The current song had ended and the transition to the new Drake song was slagging a bit. Ahnn took the opportunity to grab Jackson by the forearm and hold him back from taking off.

“You okay, dude?” He asked, head tilted in concern. He knew he was crossing a boundary, because they didn’t do this. They didn’t pry too much. As far as Jackson had always been made aware—if they had issues (and Ahnn always had so many of those. Thousands of small little issues he didn’t talk about), they fucked themselves up and then bitched about it when everything wasn’t as burdensome. When they could laugh about it.

Jackson didn’t care about Ahnn’s losses and Ahnn didn’t care about Jackson’s losses.

That’s the way it should be.

Jackson pulled his arm back. “Peachy. ‘M just dealing with it,” he told him. And he meant it. He was dealing with loss and so far, it felt pretty fucking grand.

The song begun picking up—something sleazy and with a quick beat and bitchin’ synthesizer. A group of girls with yellow hair walked between the two friends; all varied in sizes and fucking gorgeous. Some girl with purple on the ends of hair hair slithered her way under Ahnn’s arm, and then there was noise again.

Just like that.

The slouching bodies began to twirl and writhe around the vicinity like it was some sort of dance floor, bumping into Jackson and shit.

“Okay, but you and I are gonna talk later, yeah?” Ahnn had told Jackson before they were no longer near each other and a sea of Princeton and Tinsley’s best trashy individuals divided them.

“Whatever you want,” Jackson had conceded, clinking their red cups together in farewell and then he was in the kitchen, nursing his drink. Some amber liquor he couldn’t bring himself to pronounce and a splash of cola.

The ratio was really off, with the liquor weighing heavier inside his cup, but it was all great. It was really great. It burned really great.

Then, there was Macy Wong.

She was seated on top of the counter, with her slim figure outlined by some trashy blue dress and her black curly hair hanging down her back. Her honey eyes were staring at Jackson, biting her lip as she stretched her cup towards him, beaconing him to get closer.

He stared back at her for a moment, felt the lights in the kitchen dim or maybe it was just his vision becoming hazy.

It felt good looking at her.

“Hello ex-wife,” he greeted her, watched as she tipped her cup forward, her slushy drink sloppily dropping into Jackson’s half empty cup. “The fuck is this?” He glanced down at his cup and noticed the slush sloping back and forth with his drink. Something bright green mixing with the amber.

“Something that really takes the edge off. Thought you could use it cause you’re looking little blue,” she told him, reached her hand forward and pulled on the strings of Jackson’s soccer hoodie. “Game was shit, but your night doesn’t need to be. You look good, too. All flustered like this.”

“Mhm,” he mumbled as he took a generous gulp from his drink. The iciness tickled his lips as he licked them and felt someone behind shove his body, edging closer to the girl. He realized, belatedly, that he had been blocking the fridge.

Glancing back, he noticed it had been James Choi who had shoved him. Or maybe it wasn’t. Jackson didn’t really dwell on it too much because Macy had her arms around his neck now and she was loose as fuck. Just like last time.

Her drink slid from her hands as she began running her thin fingers through the back of Jackson’s hair. A splash pooled around the floor around them. And then, her lips were on his.

Like last time.

Loose as fuck.

It felt good. The attention. Jackson noticed the soft hums that escaped her lips, that suddenly felt louder than the noise inside his head. He pushed her further up against the counter, slid his hand underneath her dress. His fingertips were grazing her pretty thighs. She wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t prudent. She was exactly what Jackson needed and it was then, as she stuck her tongue inside his mouth, that he was gonna fuck her.

“Let’s continue this in the bathroom,” she whispered in his ear and proceeded to jump off the counter. Jackson couldn’t answer, felt the answer in the back of his throat.

From his periphery, he noticed something. Someone. Then, he froze. His hand was being tugged by Macy, who urged and kept gliding her hand underneath his sweater. Her cold fingers over his burning skin.

In a sea of bodies, a tide full of nobodies and wavelengths on wavelengths of loud noise and everything Jackson needed to feel the weightlessness he craved his whole entire life, was Julian.

Cheeks flushed. That awful red sweater still hanging loosely over his body. He was looking at something—no, he was speaking to someone. In his hands, there was the classic red cup being timidly held. He nodded, smiled casually as whoever he spoke with drew the punch line to some story or joke or pleasantry.

His hair was a tousled mess. Just like last time.

Jackson couldn’t stop comparing everything to last time. Maybe because he felt just as high, just as gone, but with a new found sense of misery.

Did Julian really have that good of a grip in his life that Jackson needed the boy’s affirmations to get through the week without feeling like there was a massive gap of empty noise drilling his head?

No—that wasn’t it.

They didn’t share those kind of feelings. He reminded himself harshly, his inner dialogue screamed with the blatant realization. Jackson and Julian weren’t friends who fell beneath the surface, who needed each other to get by. It wasn’t like that. It couldn’t be—it didn’t need to be. So, why the fuck did Jackson feel so fucking sad looking at him?

Julian hadn’t been at the game.

Jackson had looked for him. From the bench, when he felt something very awful constricting in his insides, he desperately looked for him. A small blotch of pink in a crowd of red beanies and black and brown and blonde heads.

There was nothing.

No one. Jackson stared into unfamiliar faces. Sulking faces littered with disappointment.

Julian always went to his games. Every single one of them. Even when they were arguing over something stupid like Jackson making a quip that hadn’t quite sat well with Julian. He would still be there. Cheering and clapping and wearing his stupid homemade t-shirt that read KIM #3.

Again, Macy tugged on Jackson’s hand. Kept whispering on his ear that she was ready, that she was soaking wet and wanted to ride him. God, she was so loose, even her ragged breaths were begging to be fucked. Jackson pulled his arm away from her reach, mouthed something back to her about taking a walk and eventually finding his way back to her.

She whined, but Jackson didn’t care. Didn’t want to be near her anymore.

He couldn’t stop looking at Julian across the room. Still immersed in conversation, still smiling kindly.

The fucking nerve of him to be here, Jackson thought as he shoved his way through a large crowd. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he knew exactly where he was going. He was going to yell at him, at Julian. Fucking tear him apart because it was the only thing that made sense to Jackson. How the fuck did Julian get off smiling like that—walking around and pretending things were okay when they weren’t. It was—

Something hard suddenly hit the side of Jackson’s face.

It knocked his balance and sent him straight into the ground, hands cupping the side of his face. “Ah, what the fuck,” he groaned. “_Shit_.”

The music kept playing, bouncy and riotous as it soundtracked Jackson’s demise to the ground, courtesy of a stray can of beer being hurled across the room. A full can of the stupid expensive beer; heavily priced and a hefty weapon of way, apparently.

Someone was at his side, some nobody that was trying to get Jackson up from the ground. Muttered something along the lines of _sorry!_ or perhaps _get out of the way!_, Jackson’s couldn’t tell because the fucking music was way too loud and whatever the hell Macy had spiked his drink with was starting to kick in.

“Get the hell up before you become roadkill man.” It was Caleb. No, it was Jamison. The fucking raging cunt. Jackson tried to kick him, but he found he couldn’t move his fucking leg no matter how hard he tried to.

Someone then came to his side. The somber tone, even through the bulbous beat of the current song, belonged to Ahnn. Stupidly wonderful and caring Ahnn.

“I got it from here, thanks man,” Ahnn said, scooping his hands around Jackson’s arms. “Jackson, we gotta get you up, okay? Let me take you outside so you can take a breather—“

Jackson shook his head, although he allowed Ahnn to gently get him to sit up. He held his hand up to the pulsing pain on the side of his face. He felt his eyes water as he looked at Ahnn. “I was having fun,” he said as his other hand gripped Ahnn’s collar and pulled him close. “And that fucking asshole just shows up and thinks everything is okay.”

Ahnn gave him a look, studied Jackson’s face for a few seconds. “Let’s get you outside,” he said, aiding Jackson as his wobbly legs brought him to stand. “You both really don’t know how to have a good time without getting shitfaced, huh?”

“My face hurts, you fucker. You don’t think I wanted to fuck Macy Wong?!” Jackson found himself shouting once Ahnn had dragged his ass outside to the dusty porch. As he was led to the edge, where the banister had been knocked down, he frantically began patting his sides, in search of something essential. “My fucking drink is gone. I need to go back there and get myself another one—Do you know how hard it was just fill my cup with that liquor shit and cola? I can’t even pronounce the name, Ahnn! It means it’s supposed to be fucking great!”

“I’ll get you another drink once you calm down a little,” Ahnn said. Behind him there was the girl with the purple ends of her hair again. Kept asking Ahnn if there was anything she could help with. “You could help by bringing me a god damn drink. It’s the least you can do considering you’ve obviously haven’t fucked the worry out of Ahnn tonight—“

“_Hey_,” Ahnn gripped Jackson’s jaw, forced him to look at him in the eyes. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Um. I’m gonna go inside and see if there’s a first aid kit somewhere,” the girl muttered quietly, slowly retreating back into the noisy mess inside of the house.

“Sorry,” Jackson blurted out, slapping Ahnn’s hand away from his face. He took in a sharp breath as his head spun a little. Gently, he was lowered to take a seat on the cold, hard wooden floor. His weight incited a loud creaking noise beneath him as he pressed his back against the wall, pulling his legs up to his chest.

“I know you’re not feeling in the best of moods, but you need to calm down, okay? Hey, Jackson, look at me,” Ahnn shook Jackson’s shoulder, forcing him to focus on him. “Remember when I said I didn’t want to fucking look after you two during nights like these? Yeah, I meant it. I’m not gonna hold your hand and ask you to take care of yourself when it’s obvious you don’t give a fuck. That’s all fair and whatever. You’re upset and I get it—“

“You’re a fucking liar.”

“What?”

“A fucking liar,” Jackson repeated, failing not to slur his words. He wiped his eyes hard, rubbing away the burning wetness that was leftover from being targeted by a full can of beer. His face fucking hurt. “You said he wasn’t going to be here and he is here. And—and, my face hurts. Ahnn, my face really hurts and I think Jamison hit me on purpose—“

“Who are you talking about? Fucking hell, Jackson, you’re unbelievable,” Ahnn sighed. He tilted Jackson’s head up, inspecting the red, beer can sized blotch on the side of his face. He chuckled lightly. “That wasn’t Jamison, you idiot. It was some guy from Princeton, I think. Anyway, we’re gonna need to head out soon. Because—“

“Fuck off, liar. I’m not going anywhere until I fuck Macy Wong and find my drink—“

“I found the car, dude,” Ahnn urged him. He nodded in the direction behind them. “Out by the parking lot. The big yellow mistake that is somehow still kicking, thank god. We’re gonna take it back. That’s why I called Julian to meet us here. I told him to bring the spare set of keys from his house so we can jack the car and—“

The door to the house swung open slowly, a lapse of noise busted through their controlled clamor of stupidity. Jackson watched as the door closed, watched as Julian held something in between his hands and took tentative steps towards the two of them. His expression was sullen, feigning a sense of composure Jackson knew Julian didn’t have it in him to perfect. Not now. Or ever.

“Can you watch him? I’m gonna back in there and say bye to Elise and then we can take off,” Jackson heard Ahnn instruct Julian, who didn’t say anything back and just nodded, kneading whatever he held in his hands. “Can’t believe our luck. Boys, we got some celebrating to do if we manage to pull this off.”

Then, Ahnn was gone. Drowned out by the noise while Jackson sat like a stray homeless man, caressing his own cheek and pretending the pain he was under wasn’t very nearing him to cry. He bit the inside of his cheek hard until he tasted the iron of his own blood.

Julian exhaled as he stood there awkwardly. “I brought…um. Some ice…and a towel,” he stammered, kneeling down next to Jackson. The clinking of the ice in the dirty towel he held in his hands rang inside of Jackson’s ears. “Did it hit your eye or your cheek? I can…If you want, I mean—“

Jackson felt the sting of the cold towel reach his face. He flinched, slapping the shit away from his face in an instant. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he hissed at Julian. He found himself breathing a little harder, the vexation inside him resurfacing.

God, he felt livid. A whole fucking week—a week of nothing but radio silence and Jackson’s running and trying to pretend his routine wasn’t fucked to shit because Julian decided he was offended by some stupid kiss that meant nothing.

Fucking nothing. That repulsive kiss.

“I’m sorry,” Julian said softly, pulling the towel away, his hands were shaking as he moved to place—

“You’re always so fucking sorry, aren’t you?” Jackson spat out, nearly stumbling on his side as he tried and failed to get up. “Why do you always say you’re sorry when—You’re such a…Don’t fucking look at me!”

Julian stuttered, his face twisted in agony as he looked away from Jackson. “I just want to help you. Can we please not fight?”

“You’d loved that wouldn’t you? Pretend like nothing is wrong. Like I didn’t kiss you and…and you just stopped talking to me.“

“I’m not pretending anything. And you didn’t talk to me either, so. I just…I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t like it, but you keep—“

“Oh my god,” Jackson groaned. He felt the burning in his chest expand. Or maybe it sank deeper in his skin. Made him feel more vicious. “Do you ever just shut the fuck up and just…just argue about something? Fight back?”

Julian cringed, backing away. He was getting ready to pull himself up, but Jackson suddenly reached out and gripped his wrist. Forced him to stay in place. A small, whine of protest fell from Julian’s lips. “Jackson, you’re hurting me. Please let go. I’m gonna go get Ahnn—“

Jackson quickly let him go. Felt the shudder of Julian’s skin suddenly leave him just as fast as it appeared.

His chest constricted and suddenly, he felt so sad. Looking at Julian as he squirmed away from him. Afraid. His eyes hazed with distress. He reflected Jackson’s sadness so well.

What he fuck was Jackson doing?

He drew in a sharp breath, felt his lungs expand and he looked away from Julian, who had already gotten back up. Ashamed, he returned to caressing his own cheek. Pressing the tips of his fingers over the swollen spot in his face.

Watery eyes.

He wanted to say sorry to him, but his harsh breaths were swallowing his words before he could even start forming the syllables. He wanted to say _I miss you. I miss you. I fucking miss you_. But how could he? He was a vile piece of shit and there was no doubt in his mind that the fear expanding over Julian’s face lead to that conclusion as well.

The kindness inside Julian’s heart had its limits.

He wasn’t built to endure this kind of ache.

Jackson hated him a little for it. Hated the entire structure of everything that composed Julian Pae. Whose only problems ever only began with a stray kiss from Jackson and the silence that following afterwards.

It was sickening to be on the rotten side of things.

Rotten side of every single thing.


	7. Chapter 7

_LENNON_

MEASURES AND WEIGHTS

The skies were marbled with deep purples and murky yellows. It made Lennon feel a little sleepy as he stared out of the large display window to his right. Outside, there was the bustling movement of the uptown folk settling down for the evening; footsteps dragging a little, heads bowed, shoulders brushing ever so slightly. Dozens of figures seemed to blend together with their heavy coats and important briefcases swinging back and forth sluggishly.

A sea of black with a background of somnolent colors.

All soundtracked to the dull noise of running car engines and distant honking.

How stupidly mundane it all felt.

Yet, Lennon really wanted to sleep to the sound of it all.

“A little higher, please,” Lennon felt a slight dig under his arm, which was already stretched out, but apparently not high enough. The tailor, a small plump elder woman with slick purple hair had to ask him again just a few seconds later. “Mister Young, higher please. Measurements are very important. Very, very.”

Lennon nodded, biting his lip as he lifted his arm a little higher for the pushy woman.

The sound of the train was very remote through these parts of town, but it was there. Lingering through the thin walls of the tailor shop. A lovely churn of a faulty motor.

Kind of felt like home.

Lennon gave his head a little shake and returned his attention to the large trio of mirrors in front of him. He met his own gaze. Stagnant eyes started back at him. Beside him, the tailoress stuck a sewing pin at the hem of his black blazer.

“Think my pants are a little loose,” he commented seconds later. His gaze had shifted down to the slight slouch of fabric hanging just underneath the line of his ass. “Looks like I shit my pants and decided to take a day walk to air it out.”

Miles laughed, but it was enforced by the flute of champagne on his hand.

As far as brotherly bonding went, this was fairly low on the list. Neither of them had a very long list to begin with, but they could mutually agree that whatever exchanges they were forced to partake in together weren’t ever entirely pleasant. Not by a long stretch.

Spending the afternoon running around shops for dress shoes and chasing the right shade of of black for their socks, and getting their suits tailored were quite the awful mix.

They only enjoyed each other’s company when they needed each other, really.

“Don’t be disgusting, Lennon. Pilly, please forgive him, he left his manners at home today,” Miles called out from behind. He sat in one of the guest settee bench. In his hand, the flute of champagne. “You look fine, you brat. Any more fucking pull on your trousers and you’ll have to peel yourself out of them.”

“Ah, The language!” Evelyn chimed in suddenly. She was standing on the opposite side of the room as she held out her phone and snapped a photo of Lennon stretching his arm out unevenly, looking like he was hailing fucking Hitler himself. ”Pilly, sweetheart, you’ll have to excuse the boys today. Both feisty today from shopping.” she bellowed that nervous laugh of hers.

Evelyn Kael was Waterford’s executive assistant that mostly delved into the family affairs and coordinated the day to day calendars; often times dipping her pinkie toe into the public relations, much to Lennon’s dismay. Lennon’s mother loved raving about her, regarding the woman as being as stupendously effective and headstrong to deal with the rowdy Young boys.

After only five months, Lennon was almost used to the shrill, drawl of her deep British accent. Whatever southern chav goat farm she crawled out from, she had forgotten to remind her tongue to enunciate actual words.

“This is a very important Tuesday,” Pilly nodded, proceeding to start lining the length of her tape measurer along the underside of Lennon’s ass. She then pinched the loose fabric and bobbed her head in agreement.

Too loose. To loose on the fifth Tuesday before the wedding. The tailoress whispered the reminder at least twice as she jotted down some more measurements down on her notepad.

Lennon nearly snapped at her, ready to tell her to shut up.

The brisk reminder, no matter how relevant it was at the moment, irked him to no end. He barely wanted to be part of the stupid wedding. Even murmurs of it infuriated him.

Yet, there he stood. Being part of it.

“You boys are going to look so charming in your tuxedos the day of the wedding. Your mum is quite pleased so far. She loved the photos I sent her. Miles, would you mind standing next to Lennon so I can snap one final picture? You mum’s request not mine,” Evelyn tilted her head forward, scrunching her nose when Miles rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, just chug the champagne already and get next to your brother and make your mother happy.”

“Watch it,” Lennon growled once Miles walked rather wobbly up to him. Seeing as he stood a little higher on the small platform, Lennon was able to make out the top of Miles’s head, which very nearly hit him square in the face.

Miles leaned forward and smacked a large, wet kiss on the side of Lennon’s face.

Evelyn snapped the picture with a loud shutter than echoed through the empty room.

Champagne courage, the bastard hard. Lennon pushed Miles’ head away and wiped the residue spit from his cheek. “Seriously? Get a grip—“

“Did it bother you? Good,” Miles smirked, wiping his own lips with the sleeve of his blazer. Pilly let out a huff of protest and tapped his arm, shaking her head and simply pointing a finger his way. “Sorry, Pilly,” he offered with no real shame in his voice. “Evelyn, we done here? It’s well past eight and I gotta swing by the shop to see if my car is finally fixed.”

“Up to Pilly, really. She’s very meticulous, this lady. But, since you’re at a standstill let’s discuss the car repairs, yeah? Matter of fact, I’ve got the check for the car expenses somewhere in my purse…” Evelyn wandered off to the back, leaving Miles to wander back to his seat and take a hearty chug of his champagne.

When she came back, she held her world in her hands; her massive leather cross body bag. Her expression turned grim and serious. Kinda made her loose vibrant red hair look a bit out of place. Either way, the woman was quick to stack up the facts and figures of fixing an old, rusty Fusion.

With Pilly engrossed in her fabric swatches off to the side, Lennon hopped off the platform and pulled out his phone.

He had seven messages and three missed calls. All from Mickey, who was evidently in the brink of a burst of genius. At least that’s what Lennon inferred from the text messages that urged him to get in contact with him immediately.

Lennon wanted to reach out, but found the strain of the back of his neck pounding away, edging his discomfort even further. It had only been about a two days since he had promised Mickey he’d think of a way to help with distribution of the drugs, and yet, the smothering feeling hadn’t exactly lifted from him quite yet. He felt it heavily on his shoulders, naturally; wouldn’t be a damn problem if it weighed anywhere else, would it?

Mixed with that, he felt an impending fear that Mickey was slowly treading a line of peril.

Like he had a target suddenly plastered over his face.

How was Lennon supposed to come up with the perfect blueprints to sell twenty kilos of pure cocaine? Every time he looked at Mickey now he couldn’t shake something in his chest than constricted heavily with fear. Deep down, it already felt like a great loss, which made Lennon feel like utter shit because he had promised Mickey they would do this. They would play the part somehow and move the fuck on with their lives.

“Nice night, huh?” Miles suddenly stood next to Lennon. He ran his fingers over the inside lining of his blazer. “Wish you’d smile more. Act like you’re at least okay with being here. Not trying to make you feel bad or anything. Just a thought—“

“Then don’t say anything,” Lennon suggested. The bitterness stung over the roof of his mouth. “Is Evelyn done with us for the day? Wanna lay down for a bit.”

“She’s talking with Pilly over some final arrangement for the suits,” Miles said. His body was turned towards the large glass window that overlooked the simmering city walk. “I guess I should say congratulations to you. Not that it matters much because we’d all knew you’d get in.”

Lennon didn’t want to ask. He didn’t need to. It was no secret that the ever expanding universe of his life kept flourishing with dozens of exhibitions that made him seem so important. Celebrated.

And he was hardly aware of it all.

Just lavished in the backlash; good and bad and every star in between.

He didn’t even apply for NYU, and yet the admission letter had waltzed right into his doorstep.

“Its a big deal, Lennon. Wipe that scowl off your face and be grateful,” Miles encouraged. There was a slight lull to his tipsy voice. “You always act like things that inconvenience you are suppose to suffocate you, but it’s not always like that. Sometimes a little inconvenience is good. Makes you see things differently.”

“And how should I see things?” Lennon found himself turning towards his brother. The side of his face bathed in the evening artificial lights.

Miles sighed. A long stretch of breath. “Have some of that courage we talked about before. Make the best out of shit and just go with it. Even the bad shit.“

“Even the bad shit,” Lennon repeated calmly as he turned to face out the window as well. Tonight, he didn’t have the energy to fight against the tide of unsolicited advice, so he let Miles ravel in his own silent glory; thinking his words actually had an effect on Lennon.

They were quiet for a little while.

Behind them, Pilly talked measurements and urgency.

Evelyn’s accent was somehow submerged in the exchange.

“So how’s Mickey?” Miles asked.

Lennon sucked his lips in, feeling anxious about the simple question. Maybe because he really didn’t know the answer. “Mickey is…good, I think. Just being Mickey, as always.”

Mickey, as always. That seemed fitting.

Miles hummed. “Can’t believe Steph’s actually dead. I went to school with the guy and…he’s kicked the bucket before I did, which is weird. Knowing someone that’s died. Did you know they found his body washed up by some river?”

“Everyone’s heard it, Miles.”

“Yeah, but,” Miles shifted his weight so his shoulder rested over the glass window. “I read that his body had been weighed down by some garbage bags that someone had tossed over the river. Which had been the only reason he was found. Face up and choking in his own vomit, the idiot.”

Weighed down by garbage. What a metaphorical way to die, Lennon thought. Garbage and vomit.

“He didn’t deserve that,” Lennon said, quietly. He thought of everything that he knew about the guy, which wasn’t much.

Lennon thought about the cigarette burns on Mickey’s arms and all of the mystery that still remained in the dark in regards to the Sohs. He thought about the last words he heard the older man speak. Something about flying high and loving the view from the top.

Maybe he did deserve that after all. Stephen. Or maybe he deserved something worse and this was a convenient snap of salvation. A lucky shortcut.

Miles suddenly pulled Lennon close. His arm swung towards the smaller boy and, by the neck, brought the two of them together in something that barely resembled an embrace.

More of Miles champagne courage.

Lennon let him have it. He’d seen the glint in eye. The reflection of angst in the window. Plus, he wasn’t really up for bickering tonight.

“Promise me you’re gonna talk to me about things that bother you,” Miles asked once they were standing outside of the tailor shop. There was an urgency to his tone.

Miles didn’t usually reached for sensibility like this. He didn’t submit to brutal admissions of affection because it didn’t come easily for him—the honesty of caring wasn’t instilled in him.

He loved through brisk reminders and backhanded comments.

This was different. Lennon didn’t recognize it. Couldn’t place the tone. Worry, perhaps? He sounded worried.

Lennon looked back at his brother for a few seconds, through the whirlwind of a quiet city and the drawl of Evelyn’s voice as she spoke to herself, saying she was gonna grab the car and pull around to pick them up.

“I’m not gonna end up in some river choking on my own vomit,” he told Miles. Reminded him, really. “I get caught doing coke once, I swear. I’m not an addict or whatever you think Stephen was.”

Miles scratched his nose. “Just promise me, okay?” he said. “I know you’re going through shit and it makes you act out, but promise you won’t be an idiot and end up making bad decisions that are gonna weigh you down in life.”

“Weigh me down like a garbage bag in a muddy river?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. You know I hate swimming,” Lennon smirked. When Miles wasn’t smiling, he rolled his eyes and added, “Jesus. I promise, okay?”

Content, Miles patted the top of Lennon’s head. “Good Moon.”

Miles then went on to talk more about the highs and lows of their lives and how he’s mostly enjoyed the highs and even prodded a little in trying to get Lennon to bare anything resembling sentiment, but to no avail. He must have felt like he was making a breakthrough, even going as far as inviting Lennon over to his place for dinner with his other brothers and his girlfriend that Lennon had only ever met twice before.

“I’ll think about,” Lennon told his brother, well knowing that he wasn’t going to think about it at all. On a good day, he could put up with Miles’ incessant berating and snide comments. He couldn’t fathom what it would feel like to be in a room full of strangers looking back at him like the odd one out that he was.

The rest of the ride home was quiet as Evelyn talked through her to do list out loud, Lennon and Miles asleep in the back.

\- - -

THE ATTENTION SEEKER

When Lennon has turned thirteen years old, he felt the presence of his mother slowly begin to wither away. It wasn’t a quick succession; everything that once graphed every detail of Linda Young. It was purposeful, the snail-like pace that it took for the facade to eventually etch itself into her skin. Like a scar. Or a tattoo.

Permanent and serving as a reminder of something awful.

Or something very meaningful, as his mother loved to phrase it.

From the beginning, at least in retrospect, it was always Lennon and his mother with an array of tiny battles. Small apartments they couldn’t afford, food they had to divide by the ounce (otherwise it meant empty stomachs), shoes worn right through several seasons (Lennon’s blue vans saw summer three times and still barely made it to autumn that one time), and multiple chest infections brought on by thin, cheap sweaters during the cruel Tinsley winters. It was perhaps a collision of nuisances that sunk deeper in his mother’s heart rather than his, but goodness, they were invincible at one point.

Linda and Lennon Young.

Happy.

Comfortable in their own bubble of tiny battles and grating reminders, baring all of the bad nights and crummy mornings with a resilience that never quite lifted from Lennon, even after he had been transplanted to a house made of gold with a bloody garden of bloody roses and a pool the size of his old bedroom. 

He would never forget his first night in a warm bed with a thousand pillows and a bathroom across his new bedroom—_a bathroom_. His own bathroom. It felt maddening. Stupid, so fucking stupid. So much, it didn’t quite feel real.

And it didn’t for a long time.

Above his head, and this had been quite the kicker back then, was a chandelier with shiny, sharp cut diamonds that sought out the darkest corners of the room and illuminated them with pure, glittering light.

At thirteen years old, Lennon hadn’t even been able to properly pronounce the word _chandelier_.

Yes, definitely not real.

Linda Young became a product of change. Of a swift, smooth cut to her old persona—wasted away into something that stood tall with squared shoulders and hair painted the color of gold. An accessory of sorts to match her new home, her new rings, her new lavish grandiosity.

Lennon—thirteen years old Lennon with scraped knees, worn down sneakers, and a bind eye for opulence—didn’t want to be an accessory to anyone. And he wasn’t. The very first year. The young boy still had the downtown hostility engraved in his composition, so it was hard to get him to understand that by extension, he had to consider himself a Waterford.

Or serendipitous.

Or a lucky son of a bitch.

He was no attention seeker, but the attention he was granted (and often times granted himself, let’s be honest) was something that made him long for cold bedsheets, the vibrations of the downtown freight trains, and his old school and old friends. He wanted to feel cold all over again, wanted to feel weightless under the presence of his kind mother; A Linda Young that wiped down tables for a fiver and brought Lennon back leftover lemon squares from the deli shop.

It took weeks for Linda Young to fade into something that dazzled in the sunlight, that presented wealth and power.

Through multiple attempts to avoid it, it had taken Lennon four years to realize where he was and direction his life was ultimately headed. True to himself, the thrashed and kicked and whined about it all. And yet, in the same breath of air, he was weeping in the rewards of his mother suddenly stuffing a golden spoon in his mouth.

At seventeen, the attention seeker was an avid offender.

“You will be the death of me, Lennon,” Linda Young sighed. Her sweet, high pitched voice had lingered over the room. Through he knitted eyebrows, it was hard not to assume she was clearly upset. Catching Lennon drunk at a benefit fundraiser wasn’t something she ever praised. “Getting high with the help? Underage drinking? What if the bystanders had seen you? Or worse—the media?”

“I’d probably land myself a centerfold spread next to Tino’s ad insert in the latest Gosspi,” Lennon had replied back. No real bite. He knew better than to snap at his mother.

Linda huffed in protest, reached forward and ran a finger alongside the side of Lennon’s jaw. “My beautiful boy,” she said. Her bracelets clinked together in the smooth movement as she traced his jaw lovingly. “You know better. You know better than to draw attention to yourself. And with a grimy boy like that?”

The help. Grimy boy. Attention.

How had she noticed the boy in Lennon’s evening escapade that night? The one with the glitter and the galaxy of stars and the beautiful blue hair?

Lennon had simply nodded, arms folded over his chest. On any other day, he was up to the task of defending his distasteful actions purely for the sake of scrutiny; he wanted to be noticed sometimes, wanted to feel observed and studied. But that particular morning had been far too mundane to stir up something odious and to bitch about how he knew the grimy boy and was about an inch away from sticking his down down his throat before being interrupted.

Hell, with his latest track record, Lennon was probably overdue for some physical contact that didn’t involve his hand and the latest issue of GQ.

That might’ve have been something he would have quipped at his mother. That he was starving for physical contact. Something vile and delusional and carnal—

Something like that would have made her nose wrinkle with disgust and maybe scold Lennon a little harder, with more bite to her sweetness.

She’d remind him he’s on a tightrope. All eyes on him. And if he slipped, the world was watching underneath. Closely.

Lennon wanted them to watch. Sometimes, he craved the attention so much, he wanted to drown in it—he wanted everyone to watch. Even the moments where no one was expecting anything from him, when he was only at the periphery of others. Deep down, he wanted to be noticed.

“What her name again? The reporters name?” Gary asked mid bite of his mushy salad.

Linda swallowed quietly as she brought her napkin up to her chin, gently tapping the corners of her pink mouth. “Hm. Dear, she’s not a reporter, remember? She’s a writer. Works for the Gosspi,” she supplied, thoughtfully. “Evelyn? You said she has been working there for a year?”

“No, Ms. Young. The writer…,” Evenlyn, sitting across from Lennon’s mother, pulled up a very large iPad in one swift motion; unlocking the device and pulling up some notes with a single tap of her finger. “Her name’s Min-See Kim. She’s been employed there for four years now. Well, four years as an actual writer and contributing editor. Before that, she was a junior writer. Wrote fluff pieces and such. From the research I’ve done so far, it seems she’s built quiet a name for herself.”

Evelyn leaned forward a bit over the table to present the tablet before Waterford; the man tipped his head forward just slightly, brow furrowed as he read over the notes. “She seems smart…perceptive. Obviously to a fault,” Waterford noted.

Linda scoffed, giving her head a little shake and refusing to glance at the tablet. “What an abomination of a woman. You’d think she’d have better things to focus her wiring on. Rather than spewing lies and stirring up the media with such filth—“

“Linda,” Gary cleared his throat. “The boy,” he warned quietly, reaching for his glass of wine and gazing briefly towards Lennon, who sat almost too quietly next to his mother.

The boy.

The nickname wasn’t new, so Lennon merely rolled his eyes upon hearing it. As much as the inclination to quip something back at the older man danced over his tongue, he held back. It was useless to attempt to rise something out of Waterford when he was in the presence of his mother. While he found the notion of Waterford’s forehead wrinkling with lines of disapproval in whatever scowl he would have inevitably thrown at Lennon, he found that his mother’s chiding ultimately more tiring than anything else.

Lennon was already walking on eggshells around her enough as it is.

Not that Lennon minded very much, because he quite liked it when his mother would ring him up just to check on him randomly throughout the day when she was upset with him, but he knew that at some point, he needed the liberty back—the oversight once more.

It was often that he was granted the disregard to do as he pleased.

He liked it enough. Came in handy more often than not.

The perks of the affluent societies. What a disgusting concept. Disgusting and convenient.

Dinners at home weren’t always so laced with business matters. It had been a long while since anything that resembled media talk had touched the surface of the dinner table. In light of recent events, of a recent Gosspi publication citing Waterford with a very dangerous claim of failing the irrespective test, there was hardly a sentenced uttered during the dinner that didn’t include the Gosspi allegations and the very well known fact that Waterford had illegally laundered his own campaign money to support an organization that housed and birthed the most scrupulous public servants in all of Tinsley.

Lennon always made sure to hold back a sprout of laugher whenever Waterford denied the allegations with an air of disturbance (benign, benign disturbance). Because, just like the rest of the raging rats that served the government, he was quite the skilled liar. He’d taken hits before—a spectrum of the best and worst anyone looking for recognition could hope for—Lennon had witnessed them once or twice with mild interest.

Like watching a spider slowly suffocating on insecticide.

It’s was funny how a single article publication was making the hemorrhaging rat squirm as he stuffed his face with salad. The man was currently sat at the very top of the school system in the entire state of Tinsley as the Director of Education, yet he couldn’t for the life of him just take the massive media slap to his wrist and move on.

“I’m sorry, Darling,” Lennon’s mother whispered quietly as her hand lifted slightly to gently graze the top of Waterford’s idle hand. She spared one single glance towards Lennon. Underneath the lights of the twinkling chandelier above, the gunky gold eyeshadow over her eyelids sparkled. 

The gold reminded Lennon of James. Of the softness around the boy’s eyes which glinted along the slope of his cheeks. Dusted with gold. Fucking stunning all over and so desperate for Lennon’s attention.

God, the things he could have done with that boy.

The memory flashed over his eyes briefly before he was pulled back by his mother’s rather sporadic request.

Lennon had missed her questions, so he was blinking up at her, confused. He suddenly felt the weight of her hand over his own, in the same manner she had done to Waterford. “What?” He said, looking up to meet her shining back eyes.

“I said, I think it’s a wonderful idea. What Evelyn just suggested,” she clarified, tilting her head as she studied Lennon closely. A hint of irk curl at the ends of her mouth. “Lennon, weren’t you listening?”

Evelyn chuckled uncomfortably, turning towards Lennon from across the table. Before her she still had her iPad on, but now it displayed some sort of website decorated with pictures pulled straight out of some stock-photo agency; an array of white kids with shiny white teeth and a random black guy at the bottom of the page.

At the very top, in obnoxious large letters: The Living Truth Organization.

“I was explaining to your mother and Mr. Waterford that I think it would be a good idea for you to advocate for the Living Truth for a few weekends,” the assistant elaborated, her skinny, crooked finger swiping down the entire webpage. “I was discussing with with the campaign’s public relations gal and she told me it would be a very good route to take. It’s called media control, I believe. By showing you support at a few of their meeting, making your presence known, you could bridge that gap that the media seems to be fixating on.”

“Which is criticizing the Living Truth as being…overtly conservative,” Waterford added, leaning back on his chair. His piercing blue eyes fixated on Lennon. “Could do you some good, learning about a different perspective for a change.”

Lennon stared at the webpage displayed before him, blankly. He let the suggestion sink in very slowly, allowing for his aversion to simmer gently before he simply spat out. “Hell no.”

“_Lennon_,” his mother held her hand over his chest, scandalized. “Angel, please don’t use that tone at the dinner table. You know I hate it when you use foul language around me.”

“Um. If I may continue,” Evelyn awkwardly interjected, slowly pulling the iPad back into her lap and clicking it off. “It’s more of a compromise, Lennon. It’s not going to be permanent, I can assure you that much, love. It’s not ideal, all things considered with…you know, you past media hiccups, but I think it may be a good idea to give insight that you, as part of the Waterford family, also advocate with the message that the Living Truth is trying to deliver.”

“Don’t call me love,” Lennon snapped at her, already enraged by her nagging presence two nights in a row. Now, she was trying to infiltrate him into one of the country’s most infamous homophobic associations. The fucking nerve of that British cretin. “Why would you even suggest such a thing? Do you not realize I’d be burn at the stake if I decided to set foot in their premises?”

Evelyn stammered, looking down at there empty plate. Her cheeks were flushed the color of her raggedy red hair. “Oh. Um…no, of course I would never want to place you in any kind of environment where anyone would condemn you for your lifestyle choices.”

“Being gay isn’t a lifestyle,” Lennon said. “You think someone just wakes up one day and decides they want to be gay the same way you wake up everyday and decide to walk out of the door with that untamed bird’s nest you call—“

“_My god_, _Lennon_,” Linda Young’s kind voice was harsh through the sudden push of her unfinished plate, nearly tipping her wine glass as the surfaced clinked together. “What has gotten in to you? What makes you think you can talk to someone like this?—Evelyn, sweetheart. I sincerely apologize for my son’s behavior. I’m sure it was not his intent to retaliate with such venom—“

“It’s fine, Ms. Young. Really—“

“It certainly is not. It was way out of line and you do not deserve to be addressed like you’re beneath any of us.”

“Well she is beneath me,” Lennon chimed in, pulling his chair back with enough force to scrape right through the cypress floors. He tossed the napkin over his plate. “And I’m not going to those meetings. So try to pull you boyfriend out of his media shithole some other way.”

As Lennon made his way out f the dining room, he heard Waterford mutter to his mother. “An attention seeker, just like his father.”

\- - -

THE RUNNERS

On Thursdays nights, there was generally a waft of tension in Lennon that mostly regarded towards the overdue work that he hadn’t done all through out the week and was going to be due the next day.

A meager thing, this tension. More like a faint pang of guilt.

The years had taught Lennon to misunderstand responsibility in ways that benefited him greatly. Being linked to the Director of Education gave way to some deeply seeded misconception of consequence. Thus, no professor in Princeton poked too deeply in Lennon’s negligence. Not even the dean himself.

Lennon knew this and lavished in it. Leading to Friday, his course work was mediocre at best. And the professors? They moved along with a small nod and disregard that shaped the privileged youth to continue feeling entitled to their imminent ascendency.

Sometimes, the attention paid off. Lennon enjoyed it for what it was worth.

Tonight, with his work still sitting on top of his desk back in his dorm, he found more of that negligence which had influenced him to run instead.

And run quite terribly, according to Daniel.

“You could try and run a little faster,” Daniel instructed through sharp, precise breaths as he jogged alongside of Lennon. “You need to breathe in and out while you run otherwise you’re gonna get a side stitch—“

Lennon was barely jogging at this point. He felt that side stitch in an instant and gradually came to a painfully slow pace. “Fuck,” he breathed out. His chest was flaring up with harsh, burning breaths. “How the hell do you do this all week? No, don’t even try—“

“At least try and keep up!” Daniel attempted to pull on Lennon’s arm, but Lennon was quick to pull his arm away from his reach.

“This _is_ me trying to keep up!”

Daniel, who reduced his speed down to Lennon’s, began pulling at his arm to get him to pick up his pace once more. “We’re not even running, dude. It’s literally just barely jogging, come on,” he gave Lennon’s arm a small tug. “You said you’d help me warm up for tomorrow’s game and we’ve been jogging for…Oh my god, Lennon, it’s only been five minutes!”

And that’s how Lennon had only ran for five minutes.

He took sanctuary on bleachers overlooking the expanse of the athletics field before him. Breaths still struggling to regulate; insistent that he wasn’t made for running. It felt kind of nice, however. The winds, the cooling sensation—at a standstill, he enjoyed the byproduct of failing to run.

Silently, he looked out:

Daniel was running laps, his bright yellow t-shirt standing out through all of the looming darkness of the night. Florescent and fleeting. The stadium lights had been dimmed, leaving only a faint source of light from the street lamps to give way out of the darkness of the night. There were more winds and more murmurs of the quiet city. Entertaining Daniel’s anxiety over the game tomorrow night are what had, both, convinced Lennon to try and run and then deciding to stay after failing to run.

“They’ve got a great team, those Lindley Shay kids,” Daniel said once he ceased the running. He stood before Lennon at the very bottom of the bleachers as he began to stretch. “One of their forwards kicks ass, which is why we’ve been really worried about it this year. Last year, we got pummeled out in the field and it was because of him. Come to think about it, they beat us the year before that as well. Think his name is Kim something, I’m not sure.”

“That’s the only thing that school is good for,” Lennon said as he watched as Daniel stretched his arm over his head. “Soccer, I mean.”

“Maybe. But, that one kid is a hell of a runner,” Daniel conceded. It wasn’t long before he was seating next to Lennon, drenched in sweat and gulping down some water. “Whoever he is, he can outrun all of us like it’s nothing. You used to go to Lindley Shay, right? Before you transferred to Princeton.”

“Not really. I got pulled out of the downtown school system three months before I was due to start at Lindley.”

Lennon had never felt any kind of nostalgia for the school, so his memories of downtown mostly consisted of his life outside of school. The quiet nights, empty stomachs, drum of traffic, and the benefits of being left alone on weekends.

“But, you still kept in touch with some of your old buddies? You must have attended middle school with them and even elementary.”

“Uh. Kinda. I knew some people, but I lost touch with them over time. Kinda kept to myself since then.”

“I’ve noticed that about you. Keeping to yourself a lot. Not like being a loner, per say, but just keeping a guard,” Daniel noted. His breathing filled the silence for a little bit. Then he added, “I like that about you, Len. You’re your own person and don’t take shit from most people, but sometimes I feel like you hold back because you want to mean something.”

“Mean something?”

“Yeah, like actually mean something. Like, you as a person or presence—meaning something: Lennon Young, a dude who was super cool in high school and now, years later, owns half of the city or something like that. That type of meaning.”

“Oh. Well, I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

“It’s cool, though. Sometimes I find myself wanting to mean something too.”

“Danny, no offense, but you’re getting to deep right now and I’m having a hard time following you.”

It made Daniel laugh. “I don’t know, man. It’s just…with school ending soon and all of us having to say goodbye and go our separate ways, it got me thinking of this shit. Like, what are we all gonna mean to each other in two years? Or five?”

“In two years we’ll all be in school, still,” Lennon said, contemplating. He thought about New York and suddenly uprooting to a whole new environment once again. Dread didn’t begin to describe it.

“I’ve always loved running, you know,” Daniel leaned his elbows back against the bench behind him, stretching his long legs until he was nearly laying flat. “But, It’s not like I’m going to become some famous athlete or anything. Like, it’s not gonna mean something to me in a few years. Do you feel like that right now? You were in yearbook last year, right?”

Lennon nodded, closing his eyes. He felt the small breeze of air flowing through his hair. “Yeah. Quit that shit as soon as the semester ended. Total nightmare.”

“But you were good,” Daniel said, nudging Lennon’s leg. “You took nice pictures, Lenny. Matter of fact, that’s gonna be what you mean to me once we part ways. I’ll look through my yearbooks and find your pictures and think, ‘Wow, I knew the guy who took this incredible picture! He was rad as fuck!’”

“My stupid pictures? Really, Daniel?”

“Yep. Five years from now I’ll be thinking that for sure. What about you, hm? Five years from now, what’s all of this going to mean to you?” Daniel rose from his seat to lift his arms wide above him, gesturing towards the school behind them, the field, the flourishing rose bushes out by the main entrance of the concert hall.

Five years felt like a lifetime at that point. Lennon barely wanted to be reminded of the future that concerning the upcoming week, let alone the incoming adult years of his life. “I’m not sure,” he said with a soft exhale. “I think I need to actually be in the future to actually think back and realize what things mean to me or don’t meant to me.”

He intended to elaborate, but decided to leave it at that when Daniel proceeded to stand up, extending his hand out to Lennon and grinning, saying something about going to get smoothies. Lennon took his hand felt the soft pull as he got to his feet. His legs wobbled a bit as he began to walk towards the gate.

As a smooth transition, Daniel began talking more about his great big quest of eating all of his favorite foods before departing Tinsley and going back to Seoul after graduation.

It wasn’t long before Daniel tugged on Lennon’s arm again and pulled him into a sprint.

Then, they were running again.

\- - -

It was late at night when two revelations piled on top of one another.

The first one was Lennon’s sudden nerve to search for a James Choi in the social media channels.

Thing was, he was feeling a little melancholy and it didn’t mean anything. Or maybe it meant something, but Lennon didn’t find it in himself to soul search for an indication. He just felt like there was something missing and instead of looking for that missing part he looked for James Choi.

And he found him.

Lennon had to bite back a smile as he had struck gold in a particular instagram account with the icon of a blue haired boy standing in front of a blue sea.

Stupid giddiness. Lennon felt in waves—in kind thumps of his heartbeat.

The light from his phone screen illuminated the giddiness.

Pure gold indeed.

The second revelation was that Mickey had apparently consulted in three runners in his spare time and the new knowledge that he threw a hefty smack to the face.

Right at Lennon’s left temple.

Lennon should have sense it coming, the dorm’s door creaking open, the click of the shut, the footsteps, but he was too busy minding himself with sending James a DM.

Three croissant emojis.

After he had hit send, the smack was already pulsing over the side of his forehead.

“Aw, you fucker,” Lennon nearly feel out of bed. His phone had slipped right out his hand and onto the floor before Mickey’s feet.

It illuminated the raging boy, lit him up from beneath like a fucking ghoul.

“What’s one thing I hate most in the entire world?” Mickey asked, dangerously calm as he bent down to retrieve the phone from the ground. He was dressed in a heavily creased white t-shirt and ripped jeans that tore more when he bent his knees. His hair was still as disheveled as last time, but his eyes were wide and gleaming.

“A regard for other’s personal space?” Lennon suggested, rubbing his temple. Through the darkness of their dormitory, he could still sense Mickey’s flaring glare on him. On a more honest note: “Okay, okay. You hate being left on read.”

“Exactly!” hissed Mickey, throwing Lennon’s phone back at him. Lennon barely caught it. “And what did you do for the past four days?”

“Ignored your ass. Which is just what I’m gonna do now because it’s late and I’m busy.”

“Busy doing what? Were you jacking off or something?”

There was nothing planned, of course, but the suggestion felt tempting. James’ profile picture was hot as fuck after all. When he told Mickey that, his fingers twitched with the inclination to smack Lennon again, but considering they had more pressing matters to address, there was no more smacking.

The way Mickey sometimes talked was with that of a expert discussing their trade in grave detail; talking extensively about the minimal details and the details that scandalized alike. He was precise when there were wheels turning and turning fast in his brain. After leading the two of them into a secluded corner of their dormitory, he told Lennon all about the perks of runners.

Mules.

Tweakers who lacked leadership but knew how to properly sniff out a deal within a five mile radius. Scum of the earth, really. Someone who walked the hellish depths of downtown and walked proudly so as long as the white lines and white junk were promised after a good run.

Heavy shit like that. Lennon felt squeamish just thinking about it. “Okay,” he breathed out quietly. “So, you mean to tell me you managed to sniff out—what? Three runners since the last time I saw you?”

Mickey nodded firmly. “Yeah. I took a bus to the Hanjung District border and I started talking with one of the dudes there and he just offered—“

“Mickey,” Lennon couldn’t help but to drag out his name. “Tell me you’re kidding, please. That you didn’t—So, you just dragged your ass over there thinking you could just pick up some junkies to sell for you—Oh my fucking god, you picked up junkies to do the selling for you!”

“Shut up!” Mickey nearly jammed his entire hand inside Lennon’s mouth as he urged him to keep quiet. “Daniel is literally five feet from us. The last thing we need is him overhearing us….But to answer your stupid question: yes. Well, and also no.”

Lennon dumbfounded face was stagnant. “What does that mean? You dumb fuck, do you even realize how dangerous that is?”

Mickey’s devotion was quite a sight all on its own. Big eyed and brimmed with a bold persistence.

A giant mirage over the lingering fear.

“What do you fucking think?—You know what, I’m not gonna waste time giving you play by play. I went there and I was able to commission three runners—”

“_Mickey_.”

“Shut up, let me finish. They’re kind of reliable, but it’s too soon to tell. I was thinking of testing them out first to see if their really legit or just trying to scam me for some easy drugs. Either way, I have a plan to kick all of this into gear starting tomorrow after the game. Did you even bother coming up with a plan yourself like you said you would?”

“Um. No…I didn’t—Uh, I didn’t get a chance,” Lennon stammered out.

“Of course you didn’t,” Mickey rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. There was a burst of light for a few seconds before he quickly lowered the opacity to a faint glow. He pulled up a very extensive list of notes. “So, I think it’s not really a surprise that you won’t be selling. That’s a fair assumption, right? It’s too high of a risk with Waterford up your ass and the media liking your mug so much. So, you’re just going to be my confidant. My second hand man. My main bitch throughout this—“

“Whoa, hold up. _Your bitch_? I can’t believe…” Lennon stirred on his seat at the corner of Mickey’s bed. “I thought we wanted to keep this whole deal just the two of us? You don’t need runners. They’ll only complicate things. It’s not something—“

“I told you, you can’t be my runner. Even if you were up to the task—“

“I would be if you’d give me an actual chance before going ahead and just knighting me about your own personal bitch. Do you honestly think you’re going to find loyalty in the fucking Hanjung District border?”

Lennon knew the extents of Mickey’s pristine articulations, but this felt too forcibly strung together. Synthetic. For a beginning, it wasn’t very promising.

Treading the line of peril.

“No, of course not,” Mickey agreed curtly. He inched his body on the bed to be closer to Lennon. Mickey’s bed in the dorm was not a little bit smaller than the one in his actual bedroom, so this put them in quite the secluded corner. “Do you think anyone who does this shit for a living is actually loyal? I’m not daft enough to believe those three junkies are actually helping me because they want to. That’s why I bought some heroin and meth off one of the sellers when I crossed over well into the Hanjung District—“

“Oh god, we’re going to fucking jail,” Lennon groaned quietly into his hands. He felt a gushing impulse to just look up at Mickey and slap him right across the face in the same manner he slapped Lennon just a few minutes ago. “Why in the hell would you cross over—and the drugs? You bought crystal meth and-and fucking _heroin_?!”

“I’m not going to use it, calm down. It’s just bait, a reward for the runners if they do what they’re supposed to do. Lennon, I swear if you don’t get that worried look on your face I’m going to slap you again.”

Lennon couldn’t help himself, the fear blaring through the back of his mind transcended well into his expression and there was no way to prevent it. Mickey had already committed a crime by just stepping foot in the border of a drug cartel that operated by word of mouth and old money. Probably a lot more, but that was a far as Lennon’s information ran. He’d heard of people actually getting arrested from simply wandering near the border. Stephen used to boast all of the time that he owned that border, that he had bent his ass over backwards to establish an alliance between the blurred lines of downtown and the Hanjung District. The name Soh meant something there.

Maybe that’s why Mickey had reeled in three desperate junkies so easily. He might have only really had to snap his fingers while he walked into that border. It wouldn’t stray too far from the typical Soh normalcy.

“Mickey…_Michael_, listen to me,” Lennon began, turning his body so he was directly facing Mickey. He took a hold of Mickey by shoulders and gave him a rather blunt squeeze. “You’re getting too ahead of yourself. Do you really want to go to jail for getting way too invested in this whole mess? Obviously not. I don’t want you getting involved, man. Just—how about you let me be your runner. This first time around. I can sell—“

Mickey attempted to shift, but failed to get Lennon to let go of him. “You act like it’s easy and it’s not, you idiot. You can barely sell me on listening to your stupid boy drama—“

Lennon gave the insistent asshole a violent shake. “I can be a runner. I can do it. You think you can just bring in three outsiders—three fucking junkies that most likely look like they’ve recently stepped out of a seven hour long orgy to mingle with high schoolers? Who the hell is gonna buy that shit? No one, that’s who.”

“You said you were scared at first—“

“I am scared. You’re scaring the shit out of me right now, which is why I want to help you even more.”

Mickey remained still. Even after Lennon’s hands slowly let go of his shoulders. “You really want to help that bad?” he said a minute later. His voice was barely above a whisper.

Fuck no, Lennon thought. He would honestly rather be Mickey’s main bitch in this mess, but at this point—which now involved hard drugs and three suspiciously insistent junkies—there was little room for apprehension. “Yes. I want to help you. I’ll do runs or whatever you need me to do. We’ll raise that money ourselves,” he told Mickey.

“Okay,” Mickey agreed begrudgingly, features hardening into something close to indignation. “You get one chance. I’m going to test you like I was going to test the other runners. If you fuck up—“

“I won’t,” Lennon assured him, tersely. “Just as long as long as you stay away from the goddamn Hanjung District.”

\- - -

A REPLY TO THREE CROISSANT EMOJIS:

james_choi: is that supposed to be some sort of form of hello?

\- - -

THE WORLD’S WORST RUNNER

“WE FUCKING WON!” Daniel shouted at the top of his lungs from across the field. Around him, his teammates all huddled towards him to form one giant hug. Chanting random names over and over again. Fist pumping in the cold air. They were blissfully unaware of the opposing side’s burst of gloominess; the way some of the downtown folk distantly booed them and flipped them off.

“Fucking sore losers,” Mickey laughed, flipping them back with a shit-eating grin.

Daniel came flying at the with wide open arms. Again, their hugs had gotten more constant. Their beaming friend ran towards them, shouting once more: “We fucking won, guys!”

“You wiped the floors with them. Proud of you, Danny,” Lennon hugged him back, unable to contain his own excitement. “Aren’t we, Mickey?”

Mickey glowered through the entire hug for a few seconds, before peeling himself away by shoving Lennon aside and breaking the embrace. “Yes. I’m proud of my little soccer superstar. And you know what this win symbolizes, Danny dearest?”

Danny was still clinging to Lennon’s side. His cheeks were flushing red, black hair slick with sweat, but his eyes were so wide and elated. “That I’m gonna get waaaaaaaaasted, bitches!”

It wasn’t hard for Daniel Lee to get wasted, really. For years, he mostly dabbled in cheap beers here and there and mostly attended parties for the ambiance and to simply surround himself with people, which he had always loved doing. Now, just three months since turning eighteen, he had also learned that not only did he love a good round of small talk and talking to random strangers about literally anything and everything, but that he suddenly held a sporadic affinity for sangria.

Lennon had noticed this fact the last get-together they had attended, where Daniel had chugged one too many sangrias and proceeded to refer to everyone as ‘bitch’ the same way a grandmother would refer to her grandchildren as ‘dear’ or ‘honey pie.’

“I love you, bitch,” Daniel giggled into Lennon’s shoulder as they made their way through the heavy crowd of people. Behind them, the music was blasting loud through the large pack of senior kids who had suddenly ushered the center of the living room as a designated dancing domain, which didn’t exactly host much dancing as it did grinding. With the lights being dimmed unbearably low and under the shitty illumination of the several rotating disco ball lamps, it was hard to differentiate people talking from people fucking in the wide open space.

Right now, all of the disco lights were glowing red.

“Love you too, buddy, but you’re choking me,” Lennon tried to pry Daniel’s wandering arm away from his neck. After several tugs, he successfully untangled himself away from his friend’s insistent touch.

“Ah, sorry. I’m gonna go dance now.” With that and with his sangria secured in one of his hands, Daniel waltzed himself straight into the raging crowd of girls who were currently swaying back and forth to _Nice For What_. “Everybody get your mothafuckin’ roll on!” Daniel screamed as he slowly disappeared in a field of swarming bodies and ass shaking.

Jesus. They were barely an hour into the party.

The stench of weed was already heavy in the air and the floors were sticky and littered with popcorn or chips.

Some random guy had even been smacked right in the face by a stray can of beer.

The scene before Lennon couldn’t have possibly been decorated any better, really.

Now that he was alone, Lennon felt a surge of nerves gripping the back of his neck. If it wasn’t for the several couples dominating every damn corner of the house, Lennon would have probably found himself situated against the wall and giving himself the world’s most abominable pep talk and downing whatever there was left of his beer.

  
Is that what drug dealers did? Talk themselves into a serene mood, pimping their own minds into a state of oblivion to alleviate the pressure?

Lennon didn’t want to feel the pressure. He didn’t thrive under pressure very well, and there was kind of a lot weighing on his performance tonight. It was Mickey’s fault, really. Him and his stupid fucking impulses. Going to a damn district to buy off some two cent whores to sell twenty kilos of coke. Who the hell would do that other than Mickey? It felt almost infuriating feeling his kind of helplessness when Lennon knew he held it in himself to be able to muster up some charm and sell the shit out of some pretty fucking sweet dope.

“Keep this shit on you at all times, okay? If someone asks you, you name the price and nod when they want to keep the deal going. Walk away until you’re out of sight, pull the baggie out of your jacket and then walk back to them. Don’t let them see you,” Mickey had patted Lennon’s chest back at the school’s parking lot, before they had gotten inside the yellow Volvo and heading to Daniel’s game. He had lent Lennon one of his thick denim jackets; light wash and with a green plaid lining and a expansive inside pocket housing forty baggies of cocaine. “The jacket has pockets on each side. On the empty side, you’re going to stuff the money. And for the love of god, do not get greedy on me and take a fucking hit while you’re on the job. Okay, Lennon?”

It was no secret that doing a line or two could really take the edge out of Lennon’s looming misgivings.

Even as he pondered taking off for the bathroom just to dip his finger in one of the bags, he caught Mickey’s gaze from across the room and was presently reminded that oh, yes. There was a lot of pressure on him right now.

The first deal had come surprisingly easy. It had been a result from a shoulder bump and Lennon’s sharp tongue, which had barked at the stranger to fucking watch it. The kid—tall and blond and with red rimmed eyes and swaggering walk, had suddenly pushed Lennon up against the wall. Before Lennon had an opportunity to slam his knee into his nuts and pushed the fucker away, the dude had ghosted his thin glossy lips over Lennon’s ear and croaked out, “You selling?”

The easiest one-hundred and sixty bucks Lennon had ever earned. Pleasantly surprised, he had even allowed the parading idiot to cop a feel of his ass. As far as he was concerned, that was a praise well earned.

The second hour had been rather dull, which wasn’t at all what Lennon was expecting. As he glanced around, he noticed the dance floor had grown twice in size. The waft of weed was no longer just lingering in the air, it was sprouting in great big puffs of smoke clouds. The disco balls were fucking rotating an array of colors all over the deep shadows of the entire room. Who the hell didn’t want to chase those small victories with a little recreational drug use.

Lennon rolled his eyes as he heard the distinguishable sounds of deep moans and hearty thrusts over to his left. It was too consistent, those thrusts. Fuck this, he thought. Without a second thought, he got himself up from the couch and got away from the actual fuckery going on literally two feet beside him.

His feet took him to the kitchen, where he knew there was at least something to ease the tension over his stupid shoulders and stupid face.

He patted his sides, feeling the weight of the drugs still expansive over the inside of his jacket.

Still there.

Then, the failed runner noticed something across the room.

He really shouldn’t have because of the clouds of smoke still thick through the distance. The fog should have covered the sight of him, of the person standing over some coffee table and raising his hands in the air as some Korean pop song blasted through the roof. Even through the shitty gleam and glitter of the color blue, his face was recognizable enough. And Lennon was absolutely electrified. There was no doubt in Lennon’s hazy mind that he was looking at James.

James Choi.

“Oh my fuck, its him,” he muttered underrate his breath, but it didn’t matter if he had shouted it at the top of his lungs. The music was so fucking loud that he could hardly hear himself thinking. Not that it mattered anyway because the remaining two brain cells roaming around in his head were wailing at him to walk over there and fucking kiss the boy.

“Hi, there. My friend said you had some stardust. You got any left? I was looking at maybe three,” A girl with long black curly hair was suddenly at Lennon’s side. “Hello?”

Lennon couldn’t focus anymore. His gaze was now resembling something achingly close to awestruck as he watched James nearly toppling down as he roared in laughter with some skinny girl with a large mass of curly blonde hair. He looked a little different, but how could he not? The last time Lennon had laid eyes on him, he had been dressed in an all black uniform and now. Now he was standing no more than ten feet away, clad in a lose fitting red flannel over a white t-shirt and a goddamn blue bandana pushing his hair out of his gorgeous face.

Lennon felt the girl shoved some money into his hand, felt the his own hand reaching into the inside of his jacket pocket and pull out three, maybe four baggies and carelessly handing them over to the girl, who was muttered something close to a complaint to him, but he honestly didn’t give a fuck. He was busy staring at James, who was mouthing along to the Korean song and with Daniel—_Daniel—_now standing next to him on top of the coffee table. “_Runnin’ man, runnin’ man, runnin’ man! Brahp!_” They were shouting, arms wrapped around each other as the sea of people beneath him jumped around at their feet.

“Okay, fuck this. Just go with it,” Lennon told himself as he reached for a random cup in a sea of red rejects scattered over the kitchen counter by his side. He grabbed he fullest one, with some blue stuff foaming at the top, which should have worried Lennon. It really should have, but the blue kinda reminded him of James’ hair so he just went for it and chugged the entire thing in to two gulps.

He felt the heat travel from his throat and down into his stomach, and instantly making him feel astonishingly warm and brave.

Brave.

Wasn’t that something Miles had told him to be? Courageous and whatnot. _Make the best out of shit and just go with it. Even the bad shit._

Even the bad shit.

Okay.

The pressure lifted from his body. The lights were still so very blue. It felt like a trance: the lights, the rhythmic drum of the music (god, his chest felt so heavy with it), the lighthearted yearning that lifted into his cheeks, into his chest and hands—

Lennon threw the empty cup over his shoulder and walked across the room, his sights still unwilling to lift from James. He felt the warm inside him expand, twisting lovingly inside his gut, feeling himself sinking deeper and deeper into the electricity, into the bursts of courage—

“_Lennon_?! Hey, bitch: Look—it’s fucking Lennon Young in the flesh!” Daniel has shouted through the distance as Lennon approached them. He still had James locked over his arm, forcing the boy’s attention to solely focus on Lennon.

Then.

Then, the boy with the stars on his eyes looked at the attention seeker.

Lights still blue all over.

A spark of recognition.

James languidly shimmied his way out of Daniel’s grasp and nearly stumbled as he jumped off of the coffee table and then blinked up at Lennon, brows furrowed as he took tentative steps forward. The closer he got, the more Lennon was able to make out the dusting of gold powder over the apples of his cheeks as their eyes finally met. James’ features softened in seconds, his pretty mouth formed a small smirk as he reached forward and grabbed Lennon’s the the hem of his jacket.

Pulling them close.

It’s wasn’t a frantic movement, but it felt like James had just dragged him all across the room. Lennon could feel the hysterical jolt in his heart when he felt James’ hands slowly snake their way underneath his jacket—

“Please tell me your name is James,” Lennon felt himself asking, as he leaned in close into James’ ear. His lips felt the slight tickle of James’ hair; grazed the surface of skin.

One of James’ hands lifted up to the back of Lennon’s neck. He bit his lip as he smiled and nodded. “Talk later, yeah?” He whispered back into Lennon’s ear.

Before Lennon could even process what he meant by that, he felt James’ lips on the side of his jaw.

His cheek.

Then, his mouth.

There was a bustle of cheers floating all around them. Lennon could only make the distant sound of clapping and that rupture of noise, of Daniel shouting ‘Yeah, bitches!.’ As the seconds ticked on, Lennon began loosing sense of everything around him because James’ mouth on his was warm and wet. The lights, the music, the distant voices—they were all suddenly gone and there was only this left: the dizziness, the exhilaration and the answer to a question Lennon hadn’t thought to ask.

What would James taste like?

Like cherries; overbearingly sweet. Like rum and weed and god, that shouldn’t make such a good combination but it was and Lennon couldn’t get enough of it.

Their previous encounter had been short, possibly fleeting because they hadn’t exactly established anything that was worthy of devotion. But it hadn’t even been difficult to outline the ways James has reached out for Lennon. He wanted him bad, back then and now, and Lennon wasn’t one to shy away from recognition.

Especially if the attempt wasn’t at all veiled with anything other than what it was: desperation. Fucking shameless and unabashed.

James kissed him hard at first. Reckless; as there was some indication that they wouldn’t get another moment like this needed to make this count. As the sounds around them dissolved entirely, Lennon felt James’ pace slow down as he pulled back slightly to drag Lennon’s bottom lip out with his teeth and then licking back into his mouth with one breathy gasp.

It shouldn’t have felt so devastatingly wonderful, but it did.

Lennon could feel the effects of whatever the hell he had downed moments before. He could feel the room spinning. His hands gripped the lower back of James’ flannel. He needed this, he kept telling himself. He needed the distraction.

He wanted to attention.

James’ hand slipped to the back of Lennon’s neck, fingers caressing the heated skin tenderly before traveling upwards to grasp the back of his hair. He tugged at the strands rather hard which made Lennon moan and had it been anybody else he would have said something, but instead the pain made the heat in Lennon’s lower stomach. He was about to ask James to do that again when he suddenly felt James pulling away from him and pulling Lennon into a very crammed corner of the room.

Roughly, James pressed Lennon’s back against the wall, bringing both of his hands to cup Lennon’s face and dove right back into the kiss. “Hot,” James muttered in between the kisses. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Lennon swore he could feel his legs nearly give in on him if it wasn’t for James’ leg wedged in between them, grinding fervently.

When the lights began flashing back to the array of colors, Lennon’s hand found James’ nape as he pulled back briefly. James’ hands hand snaked their way down to Lennon’s stomach, his thumbs making lazy circles over the fabric. Even through the flicker of colorful lights, Lennon could still see the glitter of gold over his cheeks.

Pure fucking gold.  


All of it.  


Every inch of James Choi.

Lennon sighed, meeting James’ heavy-lidded and dark and obscenely lustful stare. “Wanna…somewhere else? Or do—should we go somewhere else?” Lennon stammered like a moron. “Away…Away from all of the noise.”

James giggled. He was close enough that Lennon could hear it, could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he laughed. He nodded, one of his hands sliding down to intertwine into Lennon’s. “Yeah,” he says, leaning into Lennon’s ear. “Anywhere. I don’t care.”

And really, Lennon had no idea what he was doing, or really asking because he shouldn’t be getting caught up in the moment so easily. He knew he needed to be selling, helping Mickey like he said he would, but James had literally thrown himself at Lennon. What else was he supposed to do?

”Let’s go and see if any rooms are free, okay?” Lennon asked. James only nodded and gave Lennon’s hand a squeeze.

They cut through the heavy traffic of bodies swaying on the dance floor. Lennon could feel his heart raging inside of his chest as he looked ahead into the dark hallway up ahead. He was only able to make out one door, which he presumed to be the bathroom before—

“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Mickey suddenly popped up in front of Lennon’s path. His hard stare was not hard to miss at all. “I think your little show back there was—“

“Out of the way,” Lennon told him.

“Are you—Seriously, Lennon?! You’re supposed to be working, you lazy shit. Get your dick wet some other time—“

“He’s buyer,” Lennon told him, but Mickey wasn’t believing it. Lennon felt James’ body suddenly bumped into him, pushing his body into Mickey’s. “Shit. Just—“ Lennon leaned in closer towards Mickey. “Let me get it in real quick and then I’ll keep selling. I promise.”

With that, Mickey rolled his eyes and stepped out of the way. “Do whatever you want. Your boy back there is ready to pass out, though.”

Puzzled, Lennon looked behind him and noticed James eyebrows were now knitted together and his balance was starting to falter.

Well. Fuck. That wasn’t a good sign.

“Hey, are you okay?” Lennon asked James once he had led them into the hallway. The fluorescent yellow light above them was flickering, but it still illuminated James face as he shook his head.

No?

“I mean, no. No, I’m _good_. I just got a little dizzy, but I’m fine. Is this where we’re going?” James’ voice was low and his syllables dragged a little as he pointed to the door across from them. Without Lennon’s answer, he simply walked over and began rattling the door knob for a few seconds. There was no give.

The door was locked.

”Somewhere else? There must be other places. Like over there. Aren’t those bedroom doors down there?” James insisted as he pointed further down the hall. The slit of light that outlines each of the three other doors was indication enough that none of the room were available. “Listen, I honestly don’t care where we go, so if you want we can go around the back of the house or…shit, I don’t know. I just really, really want this, yeah?”

Lennon felt a little dizzy himself hearing James’ literally begging for him like that. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he pressed on one last time.

As soon as the question left his lips, he felt James’ mouth of his again. Two chaste kisses. Soft. Slow and teasing. “Please don’t make me beg,” he said softly. “I will literally let you pound me against the wall right here if that’s what it takes.”

Lennon felt the fucking breath slapped out of him. Without thinking, he lifted his hand up to James’ forehead to brush away the stray hairs over his eyes. He swallowed thickly. “Okay. Fuck—okay, um. I think I know where we can go,” he said, throat suddenly dry.

They stumbled over their feet with anticipation as they walked out of the hallway and towards the back door of the kitchen. The music thumping fucking loud, ricocheting to the raging rhythm of Lennon’s pulse. Behind him, he could feel James gliding a hand over his back, under his jacket and shirt; his fingers grazing the bare skin.

Lennon knew that somehow, this moment was just as fleeting as the last time they had met, but he didn’t think about it. He didn’t care. He wanted to get himself lost all over James and not even think about what it meant or didn’t mean. He wanted the stars, wanted to be submerged in James’ incessant pleads, his golden touches and raspy breaths.

There was no better, more continent time to own a shitty, old beat up 1980s Volvo.

The piss color yellow eye sore.

Coming in handy for yet another reason.


End file.
